A Snake's True Colors
by Comicrileef
Summary: A freak accident sends Harry hurtling through time...right into the Marauder’s era. But things take a turn for the worst when Harry is sorted into Slytherin. Will James ever accept his son for who he is, or will the age-long prejudice keep them apart? R
1. Prologue

Summary: A freak accident sends Harry hurtling through time . . . right into the Marauder's era. But things take a turn for the worst when Harry is sorted into Slytherin. Will James ever accept his son for who he is, or will the age-long prejudice keep them apart?

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I probably do not own.

0-o-0

"Avada kadavra!"

Harry flung himself to the ground, and quickly rolled to his feet. His wand pointed and ready, Harry braced himself for whatever Voldemort had planned for him next. They were alone on the edge of the Forbidden forest, having left the main battle some time ago. So far, no one had gained the upper hand, but Harry wasn't sure how much more he could take. He was already losing steam and Voldemort seemed unaffected.

"Harry Potter." Voldemort sneered, frighteningly emotionless. "The Boy-who-lived. Only known survivor of the killing curse. You must be very proud of yourself."

Harry said nothing, but gripped his wand tighter.

"I've thought long and hard about you, Harry. How to get rid of you. How to destroy you. And after all of that hard work, it seems I have finally found a solution."

Harry eyed Voldemort wearily. "And what would that be?"

Voldemort smiled his maniacal grin. "You shall plague me no more, Harry Potter! Tendes oblivia!"

Harry had no time to react. There was a flash of red light, a brief feeling of dizziness, and then the Boy-who-lived plunged headfirst into nothingness.

0-o-0

"Where's Harry?" Remus Lupin suddenly asked.

Fearful looks were exchanged, as the Order of the Phoenix realized that Harry Potter was, in fact, no longer with them.

The battle with the Death Eaters had just ended, but there was still no sign of either Voldemort or Harry. Remus wasn't sure whether to take this as a good or bad sign.

Remus rushed towards the castle doors (Harry had gone outside), Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger not far behind.

The castle grounds were eerily silent, and every footstep seemed to explode against the ground with a loud thud. Not far away, a dark shadow was standing, alone. It was a man who Remus recognized instantly. Voldemort. But where was Harry?

The Dark Lord turned towards them, wand in hand. His red eyes gleamed maniacally, the closest thing to happiness Voldemort could possibly show.

"Hello, Werewolf." Voldemort said coolly. He seemed to be in a good mood. "Looking for someone?"

"Where's Harry?" Remus demanded, forcing a brave front. But truly, his insides were collapsing. He had already lost James, Sirius, his parents, Dumbledore . . . everything he had ever cared for. He couldn't bear to lose Harry, too.

Voldemort's lips twitched. "Gone," he replied triumphantly, and then with loud crack, Voldemort dissaparated through the already weakened shields of Hogwarts.

Remus stood rooted to the spot as he soaked in the news. Harry Potter, son of his vanquished best friend, gone. Lifeless. Dead. The Werewolf fell onto his knees, and let his grief overtake him.


	2. The Sorting Hat

Thanks to all of the people who put this story on alert: Albus Severus Potter, Ice-tea girl, Miss Kioshi, Owls, Krr84, Omega13a, phoenixi77, and sargepup; to everyone who put this on their favorites: Albus Severus Potter, Icea-tea girl, and storyaddict; and to the person who reviewed: Albus Severus Potter. You all made my day =)

Summary: A freak accident sends Harry hurtling through time . . . right into the Marauder's era. But things take a turn for the worst when Harry is sorted into Slytherin. Will James ever accept his son for who he is, or will the age-long prejudice keep them apart?

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I do not own.

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**Chapter Two**

In the center of Diagon Alley, not three meters from Ollivander's wand shop, a boy appeared out of thin air. He was seventeen years old, with black hair and green eyes, and was relatively skinny.

His name was Harry Potter.

He stood up, disorientedly, and stumbled. Everything was black and fuzzy . . . he couldn't see a thing. Where were his glasses? And where was he? The last thing he remembered was Voldemort –– Voldemort and his piercing, dark red eyes, throbbing with hate. His words rang over and over again in Harry's head . . . 'I have found a solution . . . You shall plague me no more, Harry Potter!'

Harry tried to take a few steps, but found himself too weak. Unable to go any further, darkness overtook him.

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"James Potter?"

Harry groaned and opened his eyes to blinding light.

"You're not James Potter!" The voice exclaimed in an accusatorily surprised tone.

"No, I'm Harry . . ." Harry mumbled. He sat up slowly, drowsily noticing that he was now wearing his glasses. He was laying on a soft couch somewhere . . . unfortunately, he had no idea where that somewhere could be. Of course, this could be heaven. That would explain why he had been mistaken for his father . . .

"_Harry_ Potter?" The voice asked incredulously.

"Yeah." Harry looked around for the voice's source. It was . . . Ollivander? But that made absolutely no sense. Ollivander wasn't dead . . .

"Oh, dear," The supposed Ollivander mumbled to himself. Then again to Harry, "Are you sure, boy? You weren't hit with a jinx of some sort?"

Harry sent the man an annoyed look. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"But 'Harry Potter' doesn't exist. You seem to be confused . . ." Ollivander then brightened considerably. "I'll get Dumbledore, that's what I'll do, yes . . . stay here, boy, I'll only be a moment . . ." the wand maker waved vaguely in Harry's general direction before walking out the door without so much of a backward glance.

Not five minutes later, Ollivander returned. But this time, he was not alone. He was accompanied by - and Harry had to do a double take as he saw who it was - Albus Dumbledore.

Harry's heart skipped a beat, and he thought he might faint on the spot. Although, considering that dead people don't usually come back from the dead, Harry thought he was reacting rather well. He was half expecting a 'congratulations' when Dumbledore spoke:

"Who are you?"

Harry blinked. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this. Wouldn't Dumbledore recognize his 'Golden Boy' even if he was dead?

"Harry Potter." Harry replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Dumbledore frowned, and stroked his wispy beard thoughtfully. He turned to Ollivander and mumbled something incomprehensible to Harry. The old man turned and left the room.

"Harry." Dumbledore started slowly. "Harry Potter . . . I wonder . . . where do you live?"

Harry stared at the wizard in confusion. "What? You know exactly where I live . . ."

"I do? On the contrary, Harry, I'm afraid I have never seen you before. Therefore, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you some questions . . . or would you rather the Minister perform that service?"

Harry stared at Dumbledore, horrified. After everything the ministry had done so far, how could Dumbledore possibly suggest this? "Oh, no, sir." Harry said. "Definitely not Scrimgeour . . ."

"Who?"

"Rufus Scrimgeour. The Minister of Magic."

"Rufus Scrimgeour? I'm afraid he's not the minister quite yet, Harry, although he does seem to have the ambition . . . our minister is Terrell Gluss."

Harry couldn't do anything but stare. What in the world had happened? Of course, if Scrimgeour had been sacked Harry wasn't about to complain, but things like that didn't just happen overnight.

"Harry –– what year is it?" Dumbledore suddenly asked.

"1997." Harry replied uneasily. Dumbledore's eyes widened in comprehension. "Sir?"

Dumbledore sighed, before launching into his explanation. "I have figured out your problem, Harry. You see, it is not 1997, but 1977. Somehow, you have been sent back twenty years into the past."

Dumbledore's words echoed through Harry's head . . . he had been sent into the past, which was why Dumbledore was still there. Because he hadn't been killed yet.

"Unfortunately, I will have to ask some questions of you to verify that you aren't a Death Eater. Your full name?"

"Harry James Potter."

"James's son?"

"Yeah."

"And who might your mother be?"

"Lily Evans." Harry shifted on the bed uneasily. How much could he tell without spoiling the future? Even if it was Dumbledore . . .

"Lily Evans . . ." The headmaster repeated thoughtfully. "Unexpected. Now tell me a little about yourself—just a little bit though, mind you. Time travel can be a dangerous business . . . also mention how you got here. That would very useful information, indeed."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat before attempting to paraphrase his life's story. But what to say . . .? "I go to Hogwarts . . . I'm in Gryffindor. I'm seventeen years old . . . I, uh, don't know how I got here. Voldemort just said some spell . . ."

"Voldemort?" Dumbledore interrupted. "You were fighting Lord Voldemort?"

"Erm, yeah . . ."

Dumbledore's stony expression clouded for a moment, before he finally replied.

"I feel confident that you are no Death Eater, and so I have decided that, until we can send you back into your own time, you may stay at Hogwarts and continue your education. You will be an exchange student, from Durmstrang. Harry . . . Patterson."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, unsure whether to feel happy or sad about his fortune. Currently, he felt neither. Just numb. Everything seemed so fake, like he was watching it on T.V. instead of living it.

"Professor . . ." Harry began. "I've been told I look just like my father . . . do I need to change the way I look, or just pass it off for coincidence?"

"I'm afraid 'coincidence' will just arouse suspicion . . . I will cast a few enchantments. Ollivander will take you to Hogwarts tonight, and you'll be sorted with the first years. I know you said that you were a Gryffindor, but if we don't we'll have to answer unwanted questions. If you are a true Gryffindor, you'll remain in that house. Goodbye, Harry. I'll see you when fate draws us together again."

Harry smiled weakly. "Alright, Professor."

The old headmaster swished his wand about, casting non-verbal enchantments. And then without another word, Dumbledore was gone. Harry didn't move, but gave himself a moment to absorb the news. He was twenty years in the past . . . his parents should be in their seventh year. He would be able to see Sirius again . . Not the tired, tainted Sirius from after Azkaban. The fun-loving, pranking Marauder.

And then there were his parents. What would they be like? Was James a prat, still, or had he matured enough for Lily to finally say 'yes'? Harry had heard so much about them, and now was his chance to finally separate fact from fiction.

But then there was that pressing problem lying dormant in the back of Harry's mind. How would he get home? Would he ever see Ron and Hermione again, feel Ginny's gentle touch again? Or would Voldemort . . . win? Harry sighed wearily, and rubbed his temples with his forefingers. This situation was a whole lot more complicated than he would have liked . . .

0-o-0

"I would like to give a welcome to our new students, and to our returning students, welcome back!" Dumbledore began, in his traditional 'welcome' speech. "I can only hope there will be fewer . . . accidents, shall we say?, this year." Dumbledore's eyes paused at the Marauders, who returned with an all-too-innocent smile. "Mr. Filch would like to add that if any of you have questions as to what objects are banned, he has a complete list in his office. The Forbidden forest remains _forbidden_, the reason it was named as such. Also, Professor Slughorn has requested that I relay to you that the love potions in store are for Potions class _only._ You'll have to acquire dates the old fashioned way, I'm afraid." Some students snickered.

"And now onto a lighter topic; the sorting . . ."

Only a few rows down, James Potter felt his attention drifting. He had heard this speech so many times . . .

"I'm starving!" Sirius Black announced, rubbing his hand against his stomach for emphasis.

"That's great, Padfoot." James commented dryly.

"Of course it is," Sirius replied, oblivious to James's sarcasm.

Across the table, Remus Lupin had to refrain from rolling his eyes. "Will you two be quiet? I'm trying to listen." He asked, somewhat teasingly.

"'Course you are, Moony!" Sirius said. "So. Got any pranks lined up yet?"

"Nope. Still thinking." James replied.

"Dang. Guess we won't beat our record then, huh?"

James grinned before turning his attention to the first years, who were now lining up in their traditional placing. Professor McGonagall stepped up and announced the first name.

"Patterson, Harry!"

Not one first year moved.

Instead, a blonde boy - he looked to be around James's age - stepped up from the side, and over to the stool. His eyes remained glued to the floor, but other then that he didn't seem nervous at all.

"Who's that?" James asked aloud.

"An exchange student," Remus said matter-of-factly. "Which you would know if you'd been paying attention."

James grinned sheepishly.

"But that's what you're for, Moony." Sirius cut in. "What would we ever do without you?"

"That's a very good question," Remus muttered.

"But . . . I thought Hogwarts didn't have exchange students?" Peter Pettigrew, who was sitting beside Remus, said.

Remus frowned, realizing that Peter was right.

Sirius, on the other hand, just brushed the comment off. "Well, obviously they do, Wormy."

James turned to watch the new kid's sorting, vaguely wondering which house he'd be put in . . . he looked like a Ravenclaw. Their eyes met fleetingly, but James looked away quickly. Those eyes seemed . . . haunted. Groping for something out in the distance, just barely too far from reach . . .

"SLYTHERIN!"

But Patterson didn't move. His eyes only widened in panic, his lips moving frantically.

"He's arguing with the hat!" James exclaimed in surprise.

"I don't blame him—I wouldn't want to be a Slytherin either." Sirius remarked. "Oh, look. He's caved."

Patterson walked to the Slytherin table, looking like he wanted to melt. His fellow Slytherins moved to make him room - right next to Snape. The boy seemed to hesitate, and his face showed a brief moment of loathing shock, before melting into a blank mask . . . but why? Not that James blamed him for not wanting to sit next to the slime-ball, but Patterson hadn't even met Snape yet . . .

James's thoughts were interrupted when McGonagall announced the next name.

"Darling, Anne!"

And the _real_ sorting began.

0-o-0

"It's time, Harry." An old wizard said quietly. Harry gave him a sideways glance.

"Patterson, Harry!" McGonagall's voice echoed throughout the Great Hall. Well, it was time to go. Harry walked over to the Sorting stool, his eyes locked on the floor. He couldn't trust himself to look at his parents just yet . . . his eyes would give him away. But he couldn't resist a small peak . . .

Harry's eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table. His eyes found James Potter like a magnet. There he was, in all his glory . . . his dead father, prankster extraordinaire. Black, messy, hair, mischievous hazel eyes, the man who gave his life for his family, who . . .

No, Harry told himself. The floor, look at the floor. Those dirt covered tiles preparing for a cleaning appointment with Filch tomorrow . . .

James Potter, the man who became an illegal Animagus to accompany his friend . . .

No, his black dress shoes, bought on sale at Madam Malkins . . .

Harry sat down on the sorting stool, picking up the old hat and stuffing it on his head. At that moment, his eyes locked with James's . . . and then James turned away and started talking to Sirius, his Godfather . . . only now he was only a hormonal teenager. And then there was Remus, the bookworm, who strangely didn't seem at all out of place with the other two Marauders. Last of all was Peter. Harry bit his tongue to keep from shouting out . . . he wanted to do something horrible to the treacherous rat. A one-way ticket to Antarctica might suffice . . .

A deep voice coming from what seemed to be inside his head startled him:

_A time traveler, eh? Interesting . . . but where to put you? You have courage, oh yes. And you've definitely got some brains . . . and cunning. Ambition . . . revenge. Lots of snaky qualities about you, Harry Potter_. The hat seemed to chuckle.

Harry's eyes widened as he saw just where this was going. Surely getting revenge on the man who killed your parents and your godfather did not qualify for 'Snaky qualities'?

"No, no . . . not Slytherin!" Harry whispered frantically. "Gryffindor . . . I'm a Gryffindor!"

_I told you once that you would do well in Slytherin, yet you turned to Gryffindor,_ the hat reasoned. _I stand by my future self; you would do well in Slytherin. Learn a few life lessons, I daresay . . . _another chuckle_.Aand it _is_ only for a little while. You will be back in Gryffindor soon enough. I've made my decision . . ._

"SLYTHERIN!"

"No!" Harry hissed under his breath. "My parents . . . Sirius . . . the Marauders . . . I'll –"

"Mr. Patterson, if you'll please join your house." Professor McGonagall said curtly.

Harry shook his head stubbornly. "Come on, you stupid hat. Choose again!"

"Mr. Patterson!" McGonagall snapped.

_Go join your housemates, Mr. Potter. All will be well in the end . . ._ The hat whispered in his ear.

Harry turned a pleading look to Dumbledore, but he only raised his eye-brows and inclined his head toward the Slytherins. With a sinking feeling, Harry stood to join the Slytherin table.

They all slid away, giving him room. Although, Harry wished they had just ignored him. In front of him was a seat . . . right next to Severus Snape. Dumbledore's murderer, arch nemesis of all things good . . . Harry wanted to kill him right on the spot. Dumbledore had trusted him, had convinced the entire _order_ to trust him, and Snape had betrayed him.

"Are you going to sit down?" Snape said, an annoyed expression on his face.

Harry only nodded, teeth clenched, before sliding onto the bench. He could feel the many eyes glued to him, but tried to ignore them and keep calm. This was nothing new. He could handle this. No, he _would_ handle this.

"Are you a pureblood?" Snape asked.

"No," Harry said, forcefully ending the conversation.

McGonagall cleared her throat and called out, "Tanners, Perry! . . ."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"So, how does a mudblood make his way into Slytherin?" A girl asked from the other side of the table. Harry recognized her at once . . . Bellatrix Black. She certainly hadn't changed much over the years . . . she had that same flowing black hair, same maniacal eyes, same pale hands that grasped the wand that had blasted Sirius into the veil. Harry subconsciously felt his temper rising.

Harry caught her eye and glared. "Blood isn't everything."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically, and gave a sarcastic, "Of course not." The surrounding Slytherins snickered.

Harry took a deep breath. It wouldn't do for him to lose his temper _here_, of all places. No, he would keep it in check, and nothing would go wrong. _Absolutely nothing_ . . .

Finally, after, "Weasley, Bill!" was sorted into Gryffindor, the feast began. Harry had been a part of it many times, but the magic of it never ceased to amaze him. Food materialized before their very eyes, and high above cumulus clouds swirled in the artificial sunlight. Students of all ages reached for the golden platters before them, to satisfy their groaning stomachs. Harry was no different. He had no sooner reached for a drumstick and had taken a bite when a disturbing though reached him . . . the Marauders were pranksters. The Marauders hated Slytherin. Put two and two together and you get . . .

Harry's limbs began to tingle, and then all of a sudden, when he looked down, he was covered in reddish-orange hair, about a foot long. A quick glance around told Harry that the Slytherins were the only house that had been 'pranked'. Not a millisecond later, the table seemed to be surrounded by a crowd of angry chimpanzees.

It wasn't hard to figure out who the culprit was; all evidence pointed straight to the four beaming Marauders, who were being congratulated by their friends for a job well done.

Harry couldn't help but feel his father had gone a bit overboard, however, when somehow he was forced to stand up and . . .

sing.

He couldn't even understand the lyrics, but his mouth seemed to know them by heart. He found it strangely ironic that while he could easily withstand the Imperius curse, he seemed to be failing miserably against this potion created by four teenagers. Good thing the Marauders were on the good side.

And then it was over. The Slytherins sat down quickly, humiliated. Snape wisped a wand out of his pocket, and popped the hair away before sinking to the bench, desperately trying to conceal his red-tinged face. The other Slytherins (Harry included) weren't so lucky; they were stuck with their carrot-color manes until someone came to free them . . . and unfortunately, no one seemed to want to. Laughter echoed throughout the Great Hall, most noticeably from the Gryffindor table. Even the teachers, Harry noted, seemed reluctant to stop it.

And then— "Potter! Black!" An icy, female voice exclaimed venomously. It didn't need volume to be heard . . . it had a malicious, commanding presence about it, the kind no one would dare challenge even if it belonged to a ladybug.

Harry craned his neck to see who had spoken. It was a woman. She looked so familiar . . . where had he seen her before? She stood up and glared forcefully at James Potter, and then even more so, Sirius. "De—"

"Walburga," Professor McGonagall interrupted, an amused expression in her eyes. "These students belong to my house, therefore, I should be the one responsible for their punishments. Don't you agree?"

The woman eyed the Head of Gryffindor with utmost loathing.

McGonagall nodded curtly, before turning to the Gryffindor table. "Fifty points each, and a week's detention should suffice."

The Marauders grinned at each other, fully aware that they had gotten off very easily.

The other professor, however, looked like a fuse about to explode. Her lips pressed so tightly they were all but invisible, she sat down stiffly, hand clenched.

The remainder of the feast passed so slowly, Harry was sure someone must have paused time. He didn't dare eat anything, and so he was forced to sit quietly among the unfriendly Slytherins, unable to do anything to prevent A) the continuous laughter coming from the students and B) his growling stomach. In short, Harry was not in a good mood by the time the feast ended. He was angry - angry at Dumbledore for not doing anything to help him get rid of the itchy hair, angry at both his father and godfather for making him grow hair in the first place, angry at the Sorting Hat for having cause it all by putting him in Slytherin. He made a mental note to look up some sort of revealing charm for breakfast tomorrow . . .

When Harry was sure he could take no more, Dumbledore rose, finishing his speech. He said nothing Harry hadn't heard before— the houses should unite against Voldemort (although considering most of Slytherin was on the same side as Voldemort, Harry didn't think this likely to happen), to never lose faith, safety regulations, a more detailed description of Filch's list of banned items . . . etc . . .

etc . . .

etc . . .

And then, finally, they were dismissed. Harry dully noted that the hair was finally shedding.

"It's Patterson, right?" A voice asked from a few feet away. Harry jumped, and only barely stopped himself from stunning the person, who turned out to be none other than Rodolphus Lestrange. He turned curious eyes on Harry, measuring up his new recruit. "Nice reflexes . . . I'm the Slytherin Prefect, by the way. Rodolphus Lestrange." Lestrange held out his hand, which Harry grudgingly shook. Lestrange gave Snape a warning look. "Snape will show you to your dormitory,"

Snape's eyes narrowed but he didn't protest.

"Okay," Harry said tonelessly.

"You can ask me any questions you have tomorrow . . . I've got to go for now. Bye, Patterson."

Harry nodded, doubting that any circumstance would ever arrive to make him ask _Lestrange_ for help.

Snape nodded stiffly before standing and walking out of the Great Hall, his face comprised of an emotionless mask.

Harry took a deep breath before following Snape out. If the feast was anything to show for it, he was in for a long night.

Snape led Harry wordlessly to the Slytherin dungeons, down staircases, past the many chattering portraits, through abandoned corridors . . . and then, at last, they arrived. The air was damp and musty, although Harry wasn't all that surprised considering how far below the ground they were. Through the dim light, Harry could vaguely see chains and various nooses chained to the wall.

All in all, it was not a very happy place.

Snape walked over to the left and stood still for a moment before saying the password:

"Serpent tongues,"

The wall split open to reveal the Slytherin common room.

It had the look of the dungeon, except not so grimy with velvety green couches replacing the nooses. Green-tinged lamps hung from the ceiling by chains. The room itself was a rectangle with a staircase leading up from either side. At the moment, an elegantly carved fireplace was the only source of light. Snape and Harry were the first to arrive.

Snape walked towards the staircase on the left without bothering with an explanation. Harry followed, assuming left was the boys dormitory.

Once in the dormitory itself, Harry found that he was to be rooming with Snape and two other boys. He sincerely hoped one of them wasn't Malfoy—Now, _that_ would be too much to handle.

Harry collapsed on his bed feeling utterly exhausted when the door opened.

Time to meet his new roommates.

There were two, both with the remainders of red hair glazing their skin. One was a dark haired teenager who was very tall and well built, with a rather intimidating face - one that would better fit a war general than a seventeen year old boy. The other was shorter by a good few inches with dark brown hair and clear brown eyes. He seemed to be shrinking away from the other as if afraid of being attacked. But then again, with the number of Death Eaters in Slytherin, Harry couldn't blame him.

"I suppose I should introduce you." Snape said lazily. "This is Rabastian Lestrange," He gestured to the tall one.

"Pleasure to make your condolences." Rabastian Lestrange said coolly, his eyes glittering in malicious apprehension.

"And this," Snape began once more in a bored tone. "Is Regulus Black."

Harry couldn't help but stare. The name sounded so familiar . . . but it was someone related to Sirius, that much Harry was sure of. He decided to guess, "Sirius's brother?"

Regulus's expression turned hard. "Sirius's brother? Is that all I'm known as?"

Rabastian gave Regulus an annoyed look before turning to his trunk. "Just drop it, Regulus."

"No, it's not that," Harry corrected himself quickly. "It's just . . . I thought . . ."

"Thought what?" Regulus challenged.

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug and turned away. The boys all turned to their beds, unpacking their trunks in dead silence. Harry sighed and pulled out his new potions book. He was having Slughorn again. Well, it could have been worse. He could have had Snape . . .

Only now he had Snape for a roommate.

Harry gritted his teeth together in annoyance. Why had he been sorted in to Slytherin? Why? He was a Gryffindor. No Slytherin would have gone to rescue their godfather because of a dream, or recued their best friend's sister from a giant snake. He wasn't one of them.

The thing was, Hogwarts was a big fan of labeling. Ravenclaws were brainiacs. Hufflepuffs were blondes. Gryffindors were idiotically brave heroes. And lastly, Slytherins were unfriendly, mudblood-killing, Voldemort-supporting grease-balls. That was all there was to it.

Harry leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He was in the past, with his dead parents and his dead godfather. It was the chance of a lifetime.

And now it was ruined. All because the sorting hat had decided to turn him in to an unfriendly, mudblood-killing, Voldemort-supporting grease-ball.

Life was not going his way.

"Harry, turn out the lights." Rabastian drawled.

Harry bit back a retort and reached for his wand, telling himself that if he was going to get on Rabastian's bad side, he wouldn't do it tonight. Tomorrow, maybe.

The lights went out.


	3. To Be a Death Eater

Hey! Again, thanks for all the reviews/favorites/alerts. Here's the next chapter:

**Chapter Three**

Harry groaned and rolled onto his stomach, vaguely wondering why he wasn't waking up to the familiar sound of his alarm . . . and then he bolted into a sitting position, feeling panicked. He didn't remember ever setting any sort of alarm, and a quick glance at the clock told him that he had long since missed breakfast.

Harry jumped out of bed and got ready as quick as he could. He sincerely hoped McGonagall's classroom hadn't moved in the twenty years since he'd been there. And as it turned out, it hadn't. Harry burst into the transfiguration classroom out of breath, interrupting a class of fourth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws.

"Mr. Patterson?" Professor McGonagall asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry gasped. "I overslept."

She nodded disapprovingly. "I see . . . and you need your timetable, correct?"

Harry nodded.

McGonagall swiftly walked over to her desk and produced a piece of parchment. "Here you go, Mr. Patterson. See to it that this does not happen again."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, walking as calmly as he could out of the classroom and away from the staring eyes. But as soon as he had crossed the door, he skimmed over his timetable. What did he have now . . . divination with Professor Strange. In the tower on the other side of the school. Hopefully, this teacher was just as fake as Trelawny . . . he'd have some explaining to do if he was somehow revealed in class.

And so he headed through the seemingly endless labyrinth of corridors, ignoring the nosy portraits along the way. He had walked this path so many times he could probably find his way in his sleep.

"Greetings, Mr. . . .?" The divination teacher said once he noticed Harry had bolted into his classroom.

"Patterson," Harry supplied, sneaking a glance around the classroom. He was with the Gryffindors. Harry felt his face go hot as his gaze landed on his father, leaning back in his chair, talking quietly to Sirius who was sitting next to him. And then his mother, Lily Evans, who was sitting up straight, watching Harry and the professor with attentive eyes.

"Right, right, Patterson . . . take a seat . . ."

Harry nodded breathlessly before glancing around for an open seat. There were two. One beside Snape and one beside Lily Evans.

He chose Lily Evans.

"Why are you sitting here?" She hissed.

Harry felt his heart leap. This was his mother, Lily Evans, in the flesh, and she was talking to him . . .

"Erm, what?" He said stupidly.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Go sit somewhere else."

Harry blinked, momentarily stunned. "What? Why?"

"I think you know why, Patterson. And just to get things straight, you are _not_ cheating off me . . ."

"I'm not going to cheat off you!"

"Uh-huh. Sure. Why else would you sit by a muggleborn like me?' Lily asked pointedly.

"Because I--"

"Look, just move and we can forget we ever met. Okay?"

"What? No! Just listen--"

"Hey, Patterson," a male voice interrupted. "She said move,"

Harry turned to see James Potter standing behind him, arms crossed.

"I don't need your help, _Potter_," Lily hissed. "I can fight my own battles."

"Mr. Potter?" Came Professor Strange's breezy voice. "Please take a seat. You never know what might come flying out of that window . . ."

James nodded reluctantly and fixed Harry with a glare before trudging back to his seat.

Harry sighed, resigned. It was astonishing how bad his luck was; he had been in class five minutes and all ready he had managed to get on the bad side of both of his parents. But then again, that was just a first impression, Harry tried to reassure himself. He could fix it in no time . . .

"Where were we?" Professor Strange said, rearranging his glasses.

"Crystal gazing," Lily supplied.

"Ah, yes. Crystal gazing. One of the most ancient and divine arts of divination. _This_," he suddenly produced a swirly, white orb from his cloak, "is the crystal used by the great Seer Cassandra . . . none have been made like it. This was handmade by gremlins, forged in their finest furnaces. It has been said that the smallest hint of unicorn blood was added to the mixture, to ensure it's stability . . ."

Harry listened to the lecture with mild interest. It was certainly one of the most entertaining Divination lessons he had had . . . though he guessed it would have been better if Lily hadn't been shooting him suspicious looks all through the lesson. Harry leaned away from her, and didn't dare look her way. If he wanted to gain her trust, he certainly couldn't be caught 'cheating' on her.

Needless to say, it was a relief when the class was finally dismissed. The next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which Harry was oddly looking foreword to. Hopefully, this year he could have a normal, competent teacher resulting in a normal, reliable class. Harry slid out of his seat, unsure of whether or not he should approach Lily. James was out of the question . . . not yet at least. Harry had decided to wait a bit on him . . . let him relax a bit first.

"Patterson!" Snape's voice called. Harry froze, wanting desperately to keep walking but figuring it would look odd if he ignored Snape before he even knew him. Harry had desperately hoped that Snape wasn't much of a socializer, but so far, it seemed that that was not the case.

The greasy Slytherin appeared to Harry's right, grasping a pile of papers in his right hand, his Defense book in his left.

"Professor McGonagall said to give this to you . . ." he said tonelessly, handing Harry a pocket sized map of Hogwarts.

"Oh," Harry said shortly, hoping Snape would take the hint and leave. He didn't, but gave Harry a slightly suspicious glance.

"How did you find your way to Divination, anyway?"

"I, uh, asked someone for directions." Harry said. This wasn't entirely a lie; he did ask someone for directions . . . a good fifteen years in the future, that is.

"Who?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't know."

Snape nodded, seeming to accept this. After all, how was Harry, the transfer that hadn't even been at Hogwarts for a day, to know the names of the other students?

Harry followed Snape out of the classroom and into the hallway. Luckily, Snape didn't seem eager for any more small talk. They just seemed to drift uncomfortably on the stony floors, every step echoing louder then the first. It wasn't soon after when Harry heard the distinct clatter of footsteps behind him . . .

"So, Snivelly, got a new friend?" A familiar voice taunted.

Harry turned in surprise, only to see a teenage version of his godfather looking at him haughtily. And beside him . . . James Potter. Despite having already have met him, Harry's breath caught, his mind running on a momentarily blank. It was his father. Alive, and walking and talking and . . . taunting Snape. Behind him stood Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, looking much too satisfied for Harry's comfort. With a sinking realization, Harry realized that by being a Slytherin, any chances of them being friends were immediately squashed. Harry sighed. Great. Just great.

"Do you never get bored of hexing me?" Snape asked in an annoyed voice.

Sirius laughed, and with a flick of his wand Snape was hurled against the wall.

"Now why would that ever happen?" James asked with a slightly malicious grin.

Harry began to feel vaguely sick. He had seen this in the penseive - Snape's bullying, his father's big head. But actually being there made it so much more real. All those time, people had told Harry he was just like his father . . . he wasn't like this, was he?

"And who're you again?" James asked, rounding on Harry.

"Harry Patterson." Harry replied wearily.

"Well, Patterson." James said with the same sneer he had used on Snape. "It seems you need a nickname. Padfoot, any ideas?"

"I'm fine with my name just the way it is," Harry put in. He groped for his wand in his cloak . . .

"Well, we're not." James grinned once more, and pulled out his own wand. "Levicorpus!"

"Protego!" Harry's reaction was more instinct then anything else . . . six years of war with Voldemort (and Mad-Eye Moody's extra training) had him preparing for anything, including attacks from egotistical parents.

Sirius's eyebrows raised unconsciously as a glittery, gold-tinged white shield materialized in front of Harry, absorbing the spell.

Just then, a familiar looking redhead appeared from out of the door to the Divination classroom. Lily Evans turned, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed the scene. It certainly didn't take long to figure out what was happening, which wasn't surprising considering all wands were drawn and the shield hadn't quite disappeared yet. She folded her arms menacingly. "What's going on?"

"Just greeting the new kid, that's all." James answered smoothly.

"With what, a hex?" She asked skeptically. "Really, Potter, I hate Slytherins as much as the next person, but hexes are a bit much . . ."

"We're fine." Snape interrupted, eyeing Lily icily.

Lily stiffened. "Oh? Well, then. I'll be on my way." With one last sweeping look, Lily turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

Harry desperately racked his mind for something to say or do that would fix this. Something smart, something funny that would make his dad like him, but not alienate Snape too much (Harry figured he should try to stay on the _good_ side of the more menacing Slytherins).

"Come on, Prongs, We'd better get to Defense or we'll be late," Remus said. Peter looked up to James, as if for permission. It took all of Harry's will not to roll his eyes, or worse, glare. If he wanted three Marauders, he had to befriend all four; that was the way it worked.

James smirked, and nodded. "Yeah, let's go. Better be thinking of a nickname, Patterson." He laughed, and without further redo, the Marauders left in the direction of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He had just been hexed by his dead father, and now he was standing alone with the man that murdered Dumbledore. Boy, would he have stories to tell his kids.

"Sorry about Potter," Snape stated darkly. "Gryffindors tend to think they run the world."

Harry swallowed back an angry retort.

"Always prancing about, causing trouble. Unfortunately, the professors always seem to take their side." Snape sighed, and turned to Harry. "Shall I show you the way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom?"

"Er, yeah." Harry said. He had half a mind to hex Snape himself . . . but miraculously convinced himself otherwise. This Snape and his Snape were not the same person. This Snape was not a murderer . . .

. . . yet.

0-o-0-

"Don't you think you're being a bit, I dunno . . . harsh?" Remus Lupin asked as the four Marauders trekked the hallways of Hogwarts on their way to the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year. "I mean, we don't even know Patterson . . ."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Come on, Moony. He's a Slytherin. That's all we need to know."

"Right. All Slytherins are evil," Peter agreed heartily.

James nodded in agreement. As far as he was concerned, all Slytherins were bad eggs. They needed to be taught their place.

Remus sighed. "I guess,"

"And he was annoying Lily," James put in. "How much worse can you get?"

"Right, James," Remus said sarcastically. "Because annoying Lily is a sure sign of any Death Eater."

James gave his friend a playful glare, unable to come up with a comeback, and decided to change the subject. "So, who's the new DADA teacher?"

"Someone named Donovan Echols . . ." Remus supplied.

"Wonder if he's any good," Sirius mused. "Too bad Professor Silvia couldn't come back again . . . I liked her."

"I'm sure you did, Padfoot," James said with a grin. "Unfortunately, now that she's gone, you'll never have a chance with her,"

Sirius scowled. "Shut it,"

James grinned and opened the door to the Defense classroom. It wasn't anything special . . . a bunch of Dark Detectors sat perched on various shelves, and a great, black desk stood in the corner. In front of it was a rather lean, tall man, obviously Professor Echols. He had dark brown hair streaked with grey, and had a stiff formal face.

"All right," he announced. "Now that everyone's here . . . " he gave the Marauders a hard glance to which James grinned cheekily and sat down. He vaguely noted Patterson sitting in the back beside Sirius's brother. James' smile widened. He was looking foreword to the dueling session of this class . . . it was certainly time to put the new Slytherin recruit in his place.

"We're going to start with a review, to see how far you are and how much you need to learn before your N.E.W.T.'s . . ."

James sighed and turned to Sirius. He didn't need to listen to this . . . it was all review. "He reminds me of McGonagall . . ."

"Hey, maybe they're related . . ." Sirius muttered.

"Mr. Potter!" Professor Echols said loudly, walking over to James' desk and gripping either side, his face ablaze. "I do not tolerate laziness in this class, do you understand? Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Sure, whatever," James said with a shrug.

The Professor's eyes narrowed. "And a further ten points for your cheek . . . Mr. Potter, it would do you well to learn some discipline."

James' smile faded slightly. "Erm okay . . ."

Professor Echols nodded, before turning to the class his expression suddenly friendly. "As I was saying, today I have put together a quick quiz to test your abilities. Don't get frustrated . . . I'm willing to bet anything that no one here will be able to pass with a perfect grade. You may begin." He flicked his wand and a stack of parchment suddenly whizzed out from atop his desk and onto the students'.

James grabbed his quill and glazed through the test vaguely wondering why Echols would give them a test that no one could pass . . .

0-o-0

Harry walked into the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year somewhere between apprehensive and excited. This was by far his favorite class (mainly because he was good at it) and he was anxious to actually learn something new. In all his years at Hogwarts, he had had only two (maybe three, if you counted Snape) competent DADA teachers. He was curious to see what this one would be like.

Harry quickly scanned the classroom before his gaze landed on the so-called 'Professor Echols'. The man reminded him of McGonagall. He had a very square chin and piercing eyes, the same presence that the Transfiguration teacher possessed. Hopefully that was a good sign.

Taking a deep breath and dully noting that the Marauders hadn't yet arrived, Harry scanned the room for a seat. Regulus Black was sitting in the back . . . alone. Out of curiosity, Harry decided to sit by him, if only to see how alike he and his brother were.

The boy cast Harry a speculative glance before returning to his parchment, which he was writing furiously on with a fancy looking quill.

"Hello," Harry said, watching him.

"Hi," Regulus said quietly. Harry waited a few moments to see if Regulus was going to say anything more before saying:

"So . . . are you and Sirius twins?" Wrong thing to say.

Regulus raised angry eyes from his parchment. "No."

"Oh," Harry said awkwardly.

Silence.

Harry racked his brains for something else to say, but Regulus occupied himself once again in his work. Feeling somewhat miffed, Harry turned away and took his Defense supplies out of his bag. He wasn't sure whether Regulus just wasn't very friendly, or if he was just shy . . . either way, Harry decided he'd try again later. The Professor seemed ready to start anyway.

"Is everybody here?" Professor Echols announced to the class in a clear, precise voice.

"No," A girl from Gryffindor said from the front. "We're still missing the Marauders,"

"Pardon?" Echols asked.

"The Marauders," she repeated, her face taking on a dreamy expression, "James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin."

"I see . . ." Echols said with a frown. "Then--"

Just then, the door burst open to reveal the missing students.

"All right," Echols said, "Now that everyone's here . . ." He gave James a hard look. The teenager just grinned and slid into the nearest seat. "We're going to start with a review, to see how far you are and how much you need to learn for your N.E.W.T.'s. . . . Mr. Potter!" Echols suddenly said, walked swiftly to James's desk and gave him an intimidating glare. "I do not tolerate laziness in this class, do you understand? Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Sure, whatever," James said with a carefree shrug.

The Professor's eyes narrowed. "And a further ten points for your cheek . . . Mr. Potter, it would do you well to learn some discipline."

James' smile faded slightly, realizing that Professor Echols wasn't a teacher he could easily mess with. "Erm okay . . ."

Professor Echols nodded, before turning to the class his expression suddenly friendly. "As I was saying, today I have put together a quick quiz to test your abilities. Don't get frustrated . . . I'm willing to bet anything that no one here will be able to pass with a perfect grade. You may begin." He flicked his wand and a stack of parchment suddenly whizzed out from atop his desk and onto the students'.

Harry began his test speculatively, but soon found that there was nothing new in it. Nothing even remotely challenging. He supposed that being the Boy-Who-Lived did have its perks . . .

Approximately forty-five minutes later, Defense Against the Dark was over and Professor Echols collected their tests.

Wearily, Harry made his way back to the Slytherin common room. He had a break from then until lunch . . . Harry was at a loss for what to do. He ended up spending the time reading, barricaded in his dormitory, before he headed to the Great Hall for lunch. He could feel his stomach growling loudly, but was somewhat apprehensive about eating. He had never gotten to the library for that revealing charm after all . . .

Since Harry obviously couldn't sit at the Gryffindor table with the Marauders _or_ Lily, he was forced to sit with the Slytherins. He decided to join Regulus; He seemed harmless enough. He certainly beat Snape, at any rate.

"Hey," Harry said, slipping into the seat next to him.

Regulus glanced up and brushed a piece of brown hair away from his eyes. "Hi . . . why are you sitting here?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Well, no . . . it's just I'm not exactly the most exciting person to be with . . ."

Harry couldn't think of an answer to this, so he just shrugged and turned a suspicious glance towards the rolls sitting in front of him, deciding to endure the awkward silence. This whole situation just seemed too bizarre . . . could this really be the younger brother of outgoing, funny, mischievous Sirius Black?

"It's safe to eat, you know," Regulus said after a moments pause, his eyes following Harry's gaze to the food. "They only prank it during dinner . . . there's more of an audience."

"Oh," Harry said, surprised. Sure enough, when he decided to nibble on a roll, there was no hair, no opera, not even a tentacle. "Thanks . . ."

Regulus shrugged and pulled out a book.

Harry glanced down to see what he was reading. "What's that?"

Regulus glanced up. "Nothing really . . ."

"Uh-huh . . ." said Harry. He straightened out, ignoring the talking buzzing around him, and started to eat as much as he could; he was stockpiling, seeing as dinner would be pranked. Finally, when Harry was so full he was sure his stomach would explode if he took another bite, Harry decided to leave and go do . . . something. Sitting here was useless, especially since Regulus flat out refused to talk.

"I'm gonna go," Harry said aloud, before sliding off his seat and heading to the nearest exit. He could just feel the glaring, Slytherin eyes boring into his back, but decided to ignore them. Half those people were dead in his time anyway. It didn't matter what they thought . . .

Harry reached the dungeons in no time at all, but had a striking realization as soon has he got there. Why not go to the library? It was quiet, no one could bother him, not to mention the endless pool of information he could get in to . . . plus he could find that revealing charm for dinner.

Harry turned on his heel and began to retrace his steps.

"Have you decided yet?"

Harry froze, recognizing the unmistakable voice of Rebastian Lestrange coming from just around the corner.

"No, I told you, I was going to think about it first," came Regulus's voice.

"The Dark Lord has been patient, Regulus," Rebastian continued in a threatening voice. "He has waited for you--"

"For a week." Regulus argued.

"Do you dare insult our Lord?" Bellatrix's voice hissed. "Do you—"

"No—" Regulus protested, his voice suddenly fearful. "No, I'm just saying-"

"Saying what?" Rebastian said in a menacing voice.

Regulus took a deep breath. "I'll join him,"

"Good," Bellatrix said, satisfied. Harry heard the echo of footsteps walk away.

"You made a good decision, Regulus," Rebastian said. "You won't regret it." More footsteps.

Harry gulped. This was his chance. Regulus was alone. He stepped out from under the stairs, and turned toward the boy. Sure enough, Regulus was standing alone, his expression vacant, staring at a portrait on the wall.

"You're a Death Eater now." Harry stated blandly.

Regulus jumped, and turned alarmed eyes toward Harry. The alarm melted into anger as Regulus put the pieces together. "You were eavesdropping."

Harry didn't answer, but said, "Rebastian's wrong. You _will_ regret it."

Regulus glared. "All I'm doing is joining the winning side. It's a noble cause."

"Yeah," Harry scoffed. "Because destroying more than half the people on this planet is a noble cause."

Regulus's jaw clenched, and his eyes sparked. Harry had met worse than this, however, and he wasn't even fazed. He stared right back into Regulus's eyes, refusing to back down.

"You don't understand, _Patterson_." Regulus ground out. "I have to do this. I _want_ to do this."

"Have to, or want to?" Harry asked.

"Both." Regulus averted his eyes, and turned back to the fireplace. "You're not from here. You don't understand. But give it some time. You will eventually . . ." With that, Regulus turned and walked around Harry up the stairs and into his dormitory.

Harry sighed, and glanced up at the ceiling. Normally, on times like this, he'd go to Dumbledore - before he had died, anyway. Now, however, Harry wasn't quite so sure. Dumbledore was the same person he had always been, but the thing was, he didn't know Harry like the present one did. He didn't know how Harry felt about the war. He didn't know that Harry had actually _fought_ in the war. Dumbledore would probably just feed him a lie in a pathetic attempt to protect him . . .

No. He wouldn't go to Dumbledore for advice. Not about this anyway.

0-o-0

And there's the end of another chapter. What did you guys think? Like it? Hate it? Please review and let me know :)

-Comicrileef-


	4. Werewolves

Am I imagining things? 30 alerts? Wow, you guys are incredible . . .

**Chapter Four**

0-o-0

Sighing, Regulus Black trudged through Hogwarts' expansive network of hallways. He had just come from the Great Hall, where lunch was still being served.

Meals.

Regulus's least favorite time of day. Though this was the _normal_ person's favorite time of day . . . they got to stuff their faces at an all-you-can-eat buffet, relax, and talk to their friends.

But what if you had no friends? Well, you'd probably munch on something and sit uncomfortably while watching everyone else seem to have the time of their life.

This was what Regulus did. It wasn't that he didn't want friends—it was that he just didn't know how to make them.

Regulus hated this aspect of himself. He wanted to be confident, like Sirius. He wanted people to like him. Like Sirius. He wanted a friend. Somebody he could talk to, somebody he could trust. But then again, there was Patterson . . . he had been trying to talk to Regulus for the past day or two now . . .

But there was one teensy, weensy little problem. Patterson was anti-Death Eater; he didn't bother to hide it. And if Regulus so much as thought of spending some quality time with the guy . . . well. Let's just say that his mother—_Professor_ Black—would not be pleased.

Subconsciously, Regulus turned the corner leading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts hallway and—

Wham.

Regulus went tumbling on the floor, his books flying in all directions. "Ow . . ." he muttered.

"Merlin, I'm sorry!" Sirius's voice exclaimed in horror. "I wasn't—" His eyes suddenly widened in surprise. "R-Regulus?"

Regulus glanced up, before averting his eyes and reaching over to pick up his books. Unfortunately, Regulus didn't count on his sleeves sliding up, revealing a certain something on his left forearm.

Regulus stiffened automatically, not even daring to look up at his brothers face. He could only imagine what it looked like. It would be angry, then gleeful because surely Sirius was going to report him now . . . Merlin, how could he have been so _stupid_?

"Well." Sirius said in a strained voice. "I guess now we all know what side you're on."

Regulus didn't answer.

"Though, it's not like we didn't know before," Sirius continued. "I mean, you were always the perfect one. Of course you were going to follow in their footsteps . . ." Sirius trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes. Blinking, he shook himself back to life. Then, giving Regulus one last dirty, betrayed look, Sirus turned on his heel and walked away.

0-o-0

"I can't believe it," Sirius said in monotone, his head in his hands. He was sitting on his bed in his dorm, the other three Marauders watching him curiously from their own bed.

"Can't believe what?" Peter asked bluntly.

"It's Regulus—he's—he's joined _him_ . . ."

"And you know this for sure?" Remus asked carefully.

"Yeah—he's been acting strange, lately, and—"

"Well, maybe he's just in a bad relationship or . . ." James trailed off at Remus's stifling gaze. "Never mind."

"No, I saw it," Sirius said in a hollow sort of voice. "The Dark Mark. We kinda bumped into each other in the hall . . . his books fell, and he reached down to get them. His sleeve slid up and . . . well, you know,"

"That's awful," James sympathized.

"Yeah." Sirius muttered. "I knew it was coming . . . it just didn't quite _click_ in my mind, you know?"

"Uh-huh," James said.

Just then, Peter's stomach grumbled loudly. "I'm hungry . . ."

"We noticed," James remarked in a slightly irritated voice.

"Let's go to the kitchens."

"That might be a good idea," Sirius sighed. "I'll go drown myself in ice-cream . . ."

"Maybe not drown," Remus corrected. "Give yourself diabetes? Maybe."

"Yeah," Sirius muttered, "Let's go the kitchens."

"Great!" Peter agreed enthusiastically.

James could only roll his eyes.

0-o-0

Harry sighed in frustration and slammed another book shut. He had been in the library for four hours, and had found nothing, _absolutely nothing_, on time travel. It was now 2 AM. What a waste of time, when he could have been fast asleep . . .

Harry finally decided to give up, and go to bed. He'd try again tomorrow. Parents or not, Harry needed to get home. He had to defeat Voldemort. He couldn't just abandon everyone in his time.

Harry got up, and snuck the book back onto its shelf in the restriction section. Was he supposed to be there? No. But it wasn't like he was researching Dark Arts or anything . . . he wasn't doing anything illegal.

Harry stood and slipped out of the library – granted, it was easier with an invisibility cloak, but they really had some awful library security. Then again, the library wasn't the most important thing around here to protect. Yawning, Harry made his way to his dormitory and fell asleep.

Harry woke up the next morning feeling the opposite of refreshed. His body was obviously rejecting its late night last night. With a slight feeling of dread, Harry rolled over and looked over his schedule for today: Breakfast until 8:30, then Care of Magical Creatures with Professor Walburga Black.

Black.

_Black_?

Harry glanced up at Regulus who was somehow already showered and had buried himself in his Transfiguration textbook. Harry vaguely noticed that he was wearing long sleeves.

"Regulus?" Harry said, looking back down at his schedule.

Regulus's brown eyes looked up, and he cocked an eyebrow slightly. "Patterson?"

"What's your mum's first name?"

"Walburga," Regulus replied.

"Walburga?" Harry repeated.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

So Sirius's mother was teaching Care of Magical Creatures. It seemed like an odd choice for her. For some reason, Harry had never pictured Sirius's mum as a big animal enthusiast . . .

But oh, well. Harry would figure out everything he wanted to know in just about an hour.

Breakfast passed uneventfully; Harry ate as slowly as he could, alone. When he finally couldn't eat any more, Harry made his way out to the school grounds. He was stopped however, before he even left the castle.

"Look who it is," James Potter said with a grin, stepping out from behind a corner with Sirius and Peter.

"Thought of a nickname yet, Patterson?" Sirius taunted.

Harry cringed; Great. Just great . . .

"I've got one . . . how about Corpse Muncher? Quite fitting when you think about it, huh? I mean, you are a Death Eater . . ."

"No," Harry said forcefully through gritted teeth. "I'm not. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a class to get to,"

"But class doesn't start for seven minutes," James grinned, whipped out his wand, and idly twirled it around his fingers. "And you see, we've got nothing to do until then,"

Harry sighed in exasperation. "I'm warning you, _move_."

"You're warning us?" James taunted. "It's three against one, Patterson, and we're some of the best duelers this school has ever seen. You don't stand a chance,"

Harry sent his father a glare. "I'm not kidding,"

"Good," Sirius said, pulling out his wand. "Then this should be interesting,"

"Impe—" James started.

"Langlock!" Harry muttered.

James stopped, his tongue suddenly glued to his mouth. He gave Harry a death glare.

"Lesson number once," Harry said, Moody's voice echoing in his head. "Never underestimate your opponent, espe—"

Harry couldn't continue, however. One moment, he was explaining the simple laws of life to his father; the next, he was dangling from his ankle ten feet in the air. Harry craned his neck back to see the unknown culprit; Remus stepped out from the shadows, a satisfied look on his face.

"R—Lupin!" Harry exclaimed, feeling oddly betrayed.

"That's right, Patterson," Remus replied, walking over to his friends. "Derlock," He said, effectively ungluing James's tongue. James immediately stalked over to Harry, his face ablaze. Harry muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"You're _dead_, Patterson." James seethed. "Langlock,"

Harry's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Effectively immobilized (his wand had fallen to the floor), all Harry could do was glare.

0-o-0

"Having fun, Patterson?" Sirius said, five minutes later; those few minutes had been spent sending humiliating and otherwise painful (but harmless) spells at Harry, who was still hanging upside-down – only now, he was tied by a rope. He couldn't move. He couldn't talk. Harry had never felt this helpless.

Harry's eyes narrowed in frustration as he eyed the obnoxious, attention-loving prat that his father was. In all honesty, Harry wasn't sure what he was feeling at present. Anger, most likely, although panic was running a close second . . .

Sirius Black's snickers echoed throughout the empty hallway. "Or are you a little . . . tied up at the moment?" More laughter.

Harry took a deep breath, as he tried to refrain himself from exploding. But, unfortunately, Sirius's statement was all too true. He _was _tied up at the moment . . . literally. The so-called great Harry Potter was hanging upside down in an empty corridor, with no one but James, Sirius, Remus, and Pettigrew for company. He couldn't even grasp his wand . . .

But in a situation like this, there was nothing he could do. Except grin and bear it. _Grin_ and _bear_ it . . .

0-o-0

A couple minutes later, as he limped to Care of Magical Creatures, Harry so angry, he was (almost literally) frothing at the mouth. He tried telling himself that James was nothing but a stupid, stupid teenager caught up in some stupid, stupid prejudice, but honestly. Did they have to use such painful methods? Sure they had let him go. But it didn't matter. Harry now understood why Snape hated James so much – and was beginning to feel the same way.

Harry arrived at the place where they were meeting for Care of Magical Creatures, carefully keeping his eyes on the ground. The Marauders were smirking, he knew, but he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. He was going to ignore them for the rest of eternity . . .

Professor Black suddenly seemed to appear from behind a tree. Her black hair was down, her pointy chin tipped upward. Her icy grey eyes were narrowed as she gazed at her students.

"Hello," She greeted them, her voice slightly bored. "Now, as this is the first class of the year, I suppose I go over some ground rules; anything I say, goes. No exceptions." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Sirius scowl and glare at the ground.

"I'm sure you all know my name, so we won't bother for introductions," The Professor walked over to a large cage, about five feet tall. "Today, I have prepared a special lesson," She began, turning to her audience, and clasping her hands together. "Its effect on you may vary depending on the individual's . . ." She looked at the Slytherins and smiled coldly. "competence,"

"Today," She said, pausing for a moment. "You are learning about Werewolves," Harry's jaw dropped down a fraction, and his gaze moved to the cage. There couldn't be . . . she couldn't have . . .

"In this cage," Professor Black announced, "Are four, living, Werewolf cubs," And with that, she ripped off the covering to reveal exactly what she had said – Werewolf cubs. There were four, all thrashing and clawing at each other, chewing on the bars and on each other. Every single one of them looked as if he were in the middle of the full moon – hairy, wild, and hideous.

"P—professor?" A girl from Slytherin asked, eyeing the cage as if it were jump out and eat her at any moment. "Aren't Werewolves dangerous?"

"Of course they are," Professor Black replied smoothly. "They are extremely vicious and would not hesitate to rip you into a thousand pieces. But don't worry – This cage is made out of silver. They can't get out."

"Why are they transformed? It's not the full moon . . ." James Potter asked, his eyes locked on the Werewolves.

"Because," Black said impatiently. "They have been given a potion that makes the transformation eternal. Now as I was saying—"

"_Eternal_?" James exclaimed in horror. "So they'll be like that forever?"

"That is the general idea, Mr. Potter," Black said, giving the Marauder a death glare. Harry felt sickened. How had she been allowed to do this? Werewolves were not vicious . . . they were kind and caring human beings for most of the month. Matter of fact, the one Harry knew . . .

The one Harry knew was Remus Lupin. The one Harry knew helped his friends torture innocent people on a regular basis. The one Harry knew had helped James and Sirius completely humiliate Harry. Harry's temper began to bubble over . . .

Harry knew he should say something. If he didn't, he would just be supporting the Death Eaters in the whole anti-Werewolf thing. But as Harry glanced over at the Marauders, saw Remus's pale and sickened looking face – the only thing that flashed through his mind was 'he deserved it'.

Harry let his anger overrule him and turned his eyes to the ground. He didn't say a word.

0-o-0

"Oh my gosh," Remus repeated for the hundredth time, his eyes widened and a hollow, deadpan look on his face. The four Marauders were walking through one of the many halls of Hogwarts – as far away from that awful Care of Magical Creatures lesson as they could.

"That was—" James said numbly. "That was . . ."

"Barbaric?" Sirius offered, still staring at the ground.

"You have to admit though," Peter said thoughtfully. "She did get all of the facts right,"

"Peter!" James exclaimed in exasperation.

"Well, she did," Peter persisted.

"Did what?" A voice asked curiously.

James turned to see Lily Evans standing a few feet away, her arms full of books. His voice momentarily caught in his throat. "I—uh, well—"

"We just came from Care of Magical Creatures," Sirius supplied, somewhat guiltily. "And the Professor—she just—she—"

"Werewolves," Remus whispered. "She had four cubs, in a cage . . ."

"She had humans in a cage?" Lily exclaimed, her eyes widening.

"No," James said, regaining the use of his tongue. "She gave them a potion to make the . . . the transformation permanent . . ."

"Wow . . ." Lily breathed. "That's awful . . ."

"Yeah," James agreed.

"So . . . did anyone say anything?"

"James did," Sirius offered.

"No. I was thinking more of, I dunno . . . Patterson?"

"Patterson?" James exclaimed.

"Yeah, Patterson," Lily said, her face turning slightly pink. "I mean, he really didn't seem all that bad in Divination, and I just thought that maybe he was actually—"

"Good?" James interrupted. "No, Lily, he's a Slytherin. It was probably just a show, or maybe he was just in a good mood . . . you should have seen him before class. He was violent – cursed me 'n everything."

Lily cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "Wow. Forgive me for not seeing the drama in _that_."

James's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Well, come on." Lily explained. "When you attack him, you can't expect him to just sit down and take it."

"Who says we attacked first?"

"You always attack first, Potter! You and you're no good, arrogant—"

"Guys!" Sirius exclaimed, his black eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "Really. You can flirt later. Don't we have more important things to talk about?"

Lily's cheeks turned pink. "I was not— never mind." And then, throwing James one last dirty look, she turned and stalked away.

James groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Why am I such an idiot?"

Peter shrugged. "Genetics,"

James sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. "Well, thanks a lot, dad . . ."

Silence. Peter glanced up at his friends, waiting for one of them to start a conversation; they didn't, so he decided to give it a shot. " So. . . when was the last time we did a prank?"

James glanced at him. "Dunno. Sorting?"

"Mmmm." Sirius muttered. James sent him a sympathetic glance. He was obviously still feeling guilty about the whole predicament with his mum.

"Do you want to do a prank?" Peter tried again.

"Yeah," Remus muttered. "It'll take our minds off this, at least,"

The four boys headed to their dormitory.

0-o-0

Harry walked out of his Care of Magical Creatures, seething. How dare she do that? How dare Dumbledore allow that? Harry headed to his next class, everything around him barely even registering. Right here, left there, up here . . . that was about it.

"Hey, Patterson," A voice asked from behind him. Harry guessed it was a Slytherin. "What did you think of that lesson? Pretty cool, huh?"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment before turning to face his classmate. "Oh, yeah. Totally inspiring."

The student frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were being sarcastic."

"Yeah, well, good thing you don't know any better then."

His eyes narrowed. "Hey!" Then they widened. Harry could almost imagine a little light-bulb turning on above his head as he came to some sort of conclusion. The wrong one, obviously . . . "You're not one, are you? I mean . . ."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Who says I'm not?"

The student paled slightly.

"Maybe I lock myself in the bathroom every full moon just waiting for some unsuspecting student to walk in." Harry continued.

"You're not, though, right? You're . . ."

Harry forced a smirk. "You never can tell, can you?"

The Slytherin threw Harry a look, somewhere in between skeptical and terrified, before taking off in the other direction.

"Idiot," Harry muttered under his breath, before taking off towards his next class; Transfiguration. He was a couple minutes early, so Harry decided to take a seat and try and cool down a bit. This class was with the Ravenclaws, so there shouldn't be much drama.

One by one, the students entered and took their seats; it seemed like an unspoken agreement that the Ravenclaws sit on the left, the Slytherins on the right. A few of the seventh year Slytherins began to huddle in the back, a few seats away from Harry – Rabastian, Regulus, Bellatrix, and another student Harry didn't recognize. He had blonde hair, blue eyes, was extremely skinny, and extremely short.

Harry was in the middle of his attempted relaxation effort when a few word caught his attention.

" . . . Dating Evans?" Harry frowned slightly, his attention caught.

"Well, she's pretty!" The boy Harry didn't know defended fruitlessly, seeming to shrink under Rebastian's icy gaze.

"She's a mudblood!" Rebastian hissed. Harry felt a hot volt of anger pulse through him. But he wasn't going to say anything. "She's as good as trash!"

Nope. Not going to say anything . . .

"Pretty or not, you are her superior—"

Harry ground his teeth together.

"Superior, huh?" Harry interrupted hotly. Yes, he had bravery. Self control? Apparently not. "Well, she's obviously scoring better marks in just about everything, so where does that put you?"

Rebastian's eyes narrowed, but he kept his cool. "Oh yeah, I forgot. You're a Mudblood too, aren't you?"

"Half blood," Harry told him icily. "Did you know Lord Voldemort's a half blood, too? Or has he been telling all of you he's a pureblood?"

"How dare you say his name!" Bellatrix hissed. Harry glared at her, dully noting that Regulus seemed extremely uncomfortable.

"How dare you call Lily Evans a Mudblood," Harry hissed right back.

Rabastian opened his mouth to retort, but changed his mind when McGonagall walked into the classroom, instantly noticing the more-than-unfriendly atmosphere. "Is there a problem?"

"No, Professor," Rebastian replied, giving Harry another death glare. "Nothing at all,"

Harry glared back, before turning to the teacher. He probably shouldn't have lost his temper just then, but then, Harry wasn't known for being very levelheaded when he was angry. All he was doing was drawing attention to himself, and making his fellow Slytherins (and did he mention Death Eaters?) hate him. Harry made a mental note to surround his bed with some sort of barrier tonight . . .

Transfiguration passed with relative ease; they studied, 'Applying transfiguration to the work force: How to make yourself worth millions'. Simple stuff, really. If you were an Auror, transfigure your opponent into a fly. If you were a Dragon Keeper, transfigure your clothes into fireproof armor.

The next place Harry found himself in was Defense Against the Dark Arts, with the Gryffindors. Harry hadn't quite worked up the guts to talk to his parents yet (and after that not-so-happy incident before Care of Magical Creatures, wasn't so sure he wanted to), so he postponed; after class he'd do it. He'd talk to Lily Evans. Once he'd befriended her, Harry figured that James might warm up to him just to keep Lily happy. And once Lily was happy, everyone was happy.

"Hello, class," Professor Echols greeted. "I have graded your tests, and I must say, I was very impressed with some of you." His eyes met Harry's. "One student here scored perfect marks – Mr. Patterson, who was your teacher last year?" Harry subconsciously puffed his chest out a little when he saw his mother turn to stare at him in surprise.

"Professor . . . Crepe." Harry responded lamely.

"Crepe," Echols repeated thoughtfully. "Was she French?"

Harry only shrugged.

Echols stared at Harry for a moment more before moving on. "As I was saying, Mr. Patterson here scored perfect marks. I think we have this year's new assistant teacher," And with that, Echols broke into a broad grin, for the most part directed at Harry. "As for the rest of you . . . well. That's why we're here, isn't it? Here are your tests . . ." Echols wisped them to each individual's desk with his wand. Harry glanced down, his mind barely registering that big, fat, "O" scrawled in the center.

"Right. Everyone have their test?" Echols asked. The students nodded. "Fantastic. Harry, would you mind helping me with this lesson, seeing as you scored so high?"

Harry looked up and met Echols eyes. "No, thanks, Professor."

"But Harry! You have knowledge, and the responsibility to share that knowledge with others!"

Harry shut his eyes for a moment. "No, Professor," He said more forcefully. "I'm not much of a teacher," He added.

Professor Echols stared at him for a moment, before deciding that Harry was a lost cause and moving on. "Yes, well. Today, we will begin learning about Dementors, and the dangers they represent . . ."

On that note, Harry turned to his notebook and allowed himself to zone. In what seemed like five minutes, class had finished. Harry gritted his teeth together and stood up. He was going to do it. He was going to talk to Lily. He was going to make friends with his dead mother . . .

Harry walked quickly out of the classroom, and started to trail behind her and her two friends. Now all he had to do was say something. Just say something . . .

"Wow, I think I'm going to have nightmares tonight!" One of Lily's friends exclaimed. She had an extremely loud voice that was easily heard even in the noisy hallway, jet black hair, and darkish skin.

"Why?" Lily's other friend said. She was of average height, with an athletic build, and light strawberry blonde hair. "I mean, they're just Dementors. Plus they're on our side."

"But they such you're souls out!" The other girl argued.

"Lily . . .?" Harry asked hesitantly. They seemed not to hear.

"Right, but they suck out the _bad guys_ souls,"

"Still, they're so creeeeepy!"

"Hello?" Harry said louder.

"I told you, they are not scary! They're like extra-efficient police-men. Why do you make such a big deal out of the tiniest things?"

"Because they're creepy!"

"Guys!" Lily interrupted. "Really, do you have to argue? You're giving me a head-ache . . ."

"Sorry, Lily," They said simultaneously.

"Hey, um, Evans," Harry said louder, reaching out and tapping Lily on the shoulder.

"What?" She exclaimed, turning around, an exasperated look on her face.

Harry swallowed and forced a smile. "Just saying hi,"

She stared at him in confusion.

"Why would you say 'hi'?" Lily's loud friend asked, turning around. "Only friends say hi,"

"Well, maybe he's trying to _make_ friends," The other friend said, sending the black-haired-one a mild glare with her vivid blue eyes. "Maybe he's _lonely _and _needs_ a friend_."_

"Or maybe, he's secretly planning out our murder and is just trying to get information on us," The dark-haired one said matter-of-factly.

"That's ridiculous!" The other friend exclaimed. "Why—"

"What's your name?" Harry interrupted. Both girls turned toward him.

"Victoria Deir," the black-haired one said, eyeing him with distaste.

"Or Vicky," the other one said.

Vicky glared at her. "It's Victoria." The other girl just smiled, pointedly ignoring Vicky.

"I'm Samantha Knox." Samantha said.

Harry nodded. So far, so good. "I'm Harry Patterson."

Lily frowned slightly. "Lily Evans."

Harry looked at her and felt a smile tug at his lips. "Right. So you're in Gryffindor?"

"Uh, yeah," Vicky said, rolling her eyes. "Duh,"

Lily sighed. "Yes, I'm in Gryffindor. And you're the Slytherin who sat by me in Divination."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Why did you get so mad at me?" Harry asked, deciding to play innocent.

"Because. At this school, there's some stupid prejudice between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins," Samantha explained. "And some people," She sent a mild glare toward Vicky and Lily. "like to take it a bit too seriously."

"Ha," Vicky objected. "That's because all Slytherins are Death Eaters, and are out for our blood. Right Lily?"

"Erm, right . . ." Lily said, giving Harry an awkward look.

"Oh, come on, Lils, don't go shy on me now." Vicky said. Lily's cheeks turned pink. Vicky gave an exaggerated sigh. "Too late."

"Right. Like I said." Samantha said with a wry smile.

"Patterson?"

Harry cringed. He knew that voice. It was Bellatrix Black, and any appearance of hers could _not_ be good . . .

"Yes, Black?" Harry asked, wearily turning to her.

"Would you like to tell me what exactly you are doing with these, these Mudbloods," Bellatrix gave Lily one scornful look, before turning back to Harry.

"I'm talking," Harry replied icily. "Is that illegal?"

"Yes," Bellatrix replied, looking very pleased with herself. "Yes, it is,"

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

Bellatrix smirked slightly. "Our _master_ wouldn't be very pleased with this, now would he?"

Harry could only gape at her for a second. "My _master_—"

"Ha! See, I told you!" Vicky exclaimed, effectively interrupting any conversations within a seven-foot radius and pointing at Harry. "He's a Death Eater!"

Nearly all the eyes turned toward Harry. Harry gave Vicky a death glare, which she gladly returned. Then his eyes traveled to Lily, who was now staring at him hatefully. Harry felt himself shrink under her gaze.

"I swear, I'm not—"

But Lily cut him off, shaking her head. "Just drop it, Patterson. We're done here."

"That's right, Patterson," Vicky seconded. "Let's go, Lily," And with that, Vicky stalked off, Lily on her heels. Samantha glanced between Harry and Bellatrix, looking like she was going to say something. Then she changed her mind, turned around, and ran back up to her friends.

Harry turned to Bellatrix, glaring. "Thanks a lot,"

"You earned it, Patterson," Bellatrix returned icily, her black eyes narrowed into slits. "That's what you get for consorting with _Mudbloods_,"

"You've forgotten again," Harry told her. "I'm a _Mudblood_, too,"

Bellatrix shrugged. "Too bad. You're a Slytherin, and _Slytherins_ do not socialize with people like—"

"Shut up," Harry hissed. "Just _shut up_,"

Harry sent her one last glare, before stalking toward his next class. Why did Bellatrix have to interrupt? Everything was going to perfect until she just had to . . .

No. That was not the way to think. Harry needed to _calm down_. Just calm down, and—

Boom.

Harry was sent flying into the air and landed on the hard stone floor with a thud, his books flying everywhere. A few surrounding portraits snickered. Harry looked up just in time to see Sirius Black give him an obviously fake smile before picking up his pace and catching up to Pettigrew – James and Remus were absent.

Harry sighed exasperatedly and reached up to rub his temples with his forefingers. He was fine – he'd just get _his_ Remus to apologize later.

0-o-0

Regulus Black looked up at the sound of footsteps. He was currently studying in the library for his Ancient Ruins test tomorrow. He liked the library – it was quiet, filled with books that he could stay with forever, that never judged him . . . because Regulus hated being judged, and this was the only place he could go to get away from it all. To get away from his family and their high expectations. To get away from the Slytherins and their never-ending iciness. To get away from his brother and his evil cronies' pranks . . .

Regulus was forced out of his reverie by the sound of footsteps, and a body stepping out from behind a book-shelf. Regulus wasn't sure whether to be happy or sad: he knew exactly who this was.

"Mother," He greeted, forcing a smile.

Agrostemma Black smiled at her one and _only_ son, her black eyes glittering. "_Professor_ Black, Regulus," she reprimanded. "We are in school, and until we return home I am your teacher, and your teacher only."

Regulus glanced back down at his essay, unsure of what to say.

"Is it true?" His mother asked after a moment's pause.

Regulus looked down to his forearm, instantly understanding what she meant; the Dark Mark . . . It was supposed to be an honor – something every Slytherin wished for. So why did it feel like such a curse?

"Yes," Regulus said tonelessly. "Yes, it's true,"

Professor Black's eyes widened somewhat greedily, and she reached for her son's forearm. Regulus didn't object. Slowly, she pushed his sleeves up, until the Dark Mark was clearly visible.

"You have made me proud, Regulus," His mo—no. _Professor_ Black said. "For a while, I though you were going to refuse. Like . . ." Black trailed off with a frown. She would not mention her eldest son. Never, ever again.

Regulus tore his gaze away from his tattoo. He knew what his mother was going to say: Like Sirius. His brother.

And it was true. Regulus had seriously contemplated refusing the Dark Mark. He had held off so long with the excuse that he was underage. But ever since he had turned seventeen, he had been faced with a choice: To become a Death Eater and keep his family, his home, and his honor, or to switch sides and join Sirius on the light side, losing just about everything he cared about.

Regulus's choice was obvious.

Because Sirius may think he was happy, but Regulus had something Sirius would never have.

A family who loved him. Who cared for him.

And he was not going to ruin that.

0-o-0

Harry growled in frustration. Seething, he wiped off some neon orange paint from his forehead. It was already sparkling with the words, "Slytherin stinks", or, "Gryffindor rules," and various sayings like that.

Harry hadn't even gotten to class yet. He had woken up, showered, gotten ready for the day, and . . .

_Splat_.

He was covered in paint; apparently a giant bowl of the stuff was hanging over his doorway.

Harry knew exactly who the culprits were. The Marauders.

Harry had been at Hogwarts one week. _One week,_ and already he was miserable, angry, and alone.

There was nothing wrong with the classes; in fact, Harry _liked_ the classes. They were like a sanctuary from the never-ending drama that surrounded Harry, day in, day out.

It was what happened outside of class that bothered him. It was the Marauder's never ending bomb of pranks and the teacher's blatant disregard of everything that was driving Harry insane. Harry had thought of them as just jokes before; fun, laughter-bringing, jokes. But now they were nothing short of humiliating.

And it hurt. It hurt that every time Harry tried to talk to James (or Sirius, for that matter) he was blown off with a hex. It hurt that every interaction he had with Lily ended up with her awkwardly shuffling away.

It didn't help that he had made no friends whatsoever. Harry was torn; he could either make friends with the Death Eaters, the people who were destined to kill his friends, or just go friendless.

And then there was the fact that Dumbledore had decided to go for a little vacation, and so Harry's only source of information was the library. Harry wasn't sure his luck could get any worse.

He wasn't sure if he could take it anymore.

0-o-0

Review :)


	5. Accidents

**Chapter Five**

"Wow," Lily said as soon as Defense Against the Dark Arts was over. "I hate to admit it but Patterson is _good_," Lily was walking with her two friends, Victoria and Samantha, and had just come from yet another Defense lesson. Professor Echols had promised to teach them about Patroni that day, but for some reason or another, had delayed it another few days. _He_ said they weren't ready yet. _Lily_ thought he was just spinning his mouth off. Instead, they had had a dueling lesson. Lily had been paired with Samantha, but they hadn't really done anything. They had just watched Patterson and Rodolphus Lestrange duel; they could only stun or disarm, but their level of power . . . wow.

It was really too bad Patterson was a Death Eater. He would have made a pretty darn good Auror . . .

"Yeah," Samantha agreed full heartedly. "I wish I could do that. No Death Eater would ever be able to touch me. I would be invincible!"

"Uh, no." Victoria argued. "You-Know-Who would _own_ you."

Samantha snorted. "Own? Nice word, Vicky."

"I told you," Victoria said in an exasperated tone of voice. "It's Victoria. Vicky sounds like Icky and picky and—"

"We get it," Samantha said, grinning and meeting Lily's eyes. Lily grinned back. Her friends were so immature, but she loved them for it. It was what made them . . . them.

"Oh, no," Victoria said, stopping in her tracks. "It's _him_,"

Both Lily and Samantha new immediately who she meant: Harry Patterson, who was indeed rushing up to them, a nervous look on his face.

"You're stalker . . ." Samantha whispered to Lily with a satisfied grin on her face. Lily shot her friend a glare, although Lily had to admit it was true; Patterson had tried to talk to her every chance he got.

"So, what'd you think of class?" Patterson asked as soon as he was close enough to be heard, catching Lily's eyes. Lily looked away uncomfortably, before shrugging.

"It was cool, I guess."

"Yeah," Patterson agreed. "Cool."

Lily stared at him for a minute. When she thought about it, he really didn't seem like the Death Eater type. He was nice, smart, logical . . . he had even stood up for Werewolves in Care of Magical Creatures! But then again, Death Eaters often came in the strangest shapes and sizes. Best to stay away from them when you could.

"So I was thinking . . ." Patterson started again.

"Doing that thinking thing again?" James Potter's voice asked from behind them. Lily internally groaned. She had been planning on professionally shuffling Patterson away. Now that Potter was here, he would completely antagonize him.

"Better stop. It's obviously not working for you." James continued.

Lily saw Patterson give Potter a glare . . . but there was something off. It was more irritated than angry, more betrayed than hurtful . . .

But then again, Lily did have an overactive imagination.

"Just leave, Potter," Lily said in a tired voice. "I'm handling this."

"Well, the Corpse Muncher's still here, so obviously you're not," Potter argued. "But don't worry – I'll save you."

"You'll probably just get me killed," Lily said icily.

James stared at her for a moment, before turning to Patterson. "Stop annoying her, or—"

"Or what?" Lily burst. "You're going to turn into more of a judgmental jerk than you already are?"

"Uh, no. I'm teaching this Death Eater a lesson." James replied smartly, raising his chin up a fraction.

"You know, Lily, he's right." Victoria stated blandly.

"What?" Lily exclaimed, rounding on her friend.

"You think it too, so tell me. _Why_ are you two arguing again?"

"Because he's being a judgmental jerk," Samantha said simply.

"Thank you," Lily exclaimed.

Victoria rolled her eyes. 'Honestly, why are you defending him?" She jerked her hand toward Patterson, who looked a cross between hurt and angry. "He's a freakin'—"

"_Person_ who does not appreciate being talked about in third person," Patterson interrupted coldly. "And who is not, for the hundredth time, a Death Eater,"

Potter snorted.

Patterson sent him a glare, before giving Lily a hard betrayed look and walking stiffly away.

"Oooh. Touchy," Victoria snickered.

Lily swallowed down the guilt that was building up in her throat. Why did he have to look at her like that? And why did her conscious actually believe him when he was quite obviously just an extremely good actor?

"Right," Potter said, clearing his throat. "Now that the leech is gone—"

"Actually, the leech is still here," Lily said, giving Potter a pointed glance.

Potter frowned slightly, but seemed otherwise unnerved. "Right. Well, you know there's the Hogsmeade trip coming up—"

"Oh, gosh," Victoria groaned.

"Right. Well, I figured I'd do you the favor of taking you to Hogsmeade."

"Do me _the favor of_?" Lily ground out. "You'd be doing me a _favor_ if you never spoke to me again!"

Potter blinked. "What?"

"Let me try to get this through your nonexistent brain," Lily explained impatiently, "I will never, ever, go out with you. How could you possibly expect me to date _you_ – an insensitive, heartless, idiotic—"

"Prick," Samantha offered.

"Prick," Lily continued, "I don't know, but if you don't leave me alone, I will personally make sure you wake up with a head the size of Venus!"

"She knows where you live," Samantha threatened.

"And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a class to get to." And with that, Lily turned and stalked away, leaving a slightly stunned James Potter standing in the middle of the hallway, his mouth slightly agape.

0-o-0

James: I'm telling you, there's something seriously wrong here! – James wrote on a piece of paper during Transfiguration.

Sirius: What—Did Evans actually say yes this time?

James: No – she said no. But I'm talking about Patterson! He's driving me insane! He's a Death Eater, I know it! He just keeps denying it, so Lily takes _his_ side even though she's really on _my_ side . . .

Sirius: Say what?

Remus: Okay, you do remember Care of Magical Creatures, right? When Patterson stood up for Werewolves?

James: Well, he's obviously just fighting his way to the top of the food chain. Anyway, back to business: we need to get Patterson caught in the act.

Sirius: Exactly! But how . . .

Peter: Make friends with him.

Sirius: What?

James: What?

Remus: Uh, Wormy, have you hit your head too hard?

Peter: No! I'm just saying—his friends probably know for sure he's a Death Eater, right?

James: Well, yeah, but getting close to him is not worth getting infected with whatever _disease_ he's infected with.

Sirius: I second that.

Remus: I dunno . . . I still think that maybe we should think this through a bit more.

James: Well—

"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall said in a stern voice. Remus glanced up and immediately shoved his parchment underneath his desk.

James smiled up cheekily. "Yes?"

"Would you like to tell me the exact formula for Blackspurr's law?"

James blinked. "Erm . . . which law was that again?" Professor McGonagall sighed and glanced back up to the chalkboard, which had a complicated series of numbers on it. "The answer is on the board, Mr. Potter. Twenty points from Gryffindor. It would serve you well to pay more attention in the future."

As soon as the professor had turned around, James turned and grinned impishly at Sirius. Remus felt the ghost of a smile grace his lips, but he immediately turned and started taking notes. He really didn't need another detention this week.

Transfiguration passed with relative ease, and Remus took off for Ancient Ruins, while the other three Marauders headed towards Muggle studies. A few days ago, in the first lesson of the year, Remus had been surprised to learn that Patterson was in this class, too. And, seeing as only six students had qualified for N.E.W.T. level Ancient Ruins, it looked as if Remus was to be spending a lot of quality time with the Slytherin. Remus had cringed back when first learning about his new classmate, but now he wasn't so sure. Patterson was . . . strange, to say the least, and Remus was starting to have doubts on whether or not he really was as bad as James claimed. Especially after he stood up for Werewolves . . . It was also in the way he acted, the way he seemed to have an endless fascination with Gryffindors. Every time he looked at Remus, the Werewolf wanted to duck under a desk in shame. Patterson just seemed so _betrayed_, without any clear reason why. Something was seriously off about the new Slytherin, and Remus was determined to find out what that something was.

0-o-0

Regulus Arcturus Black. He was a Slytherin. Quiet, not very friendly. The opposite of his _cheerful, fun_, brother Sirius. And now . . . Death Eater.

Regulus sighed aloud and looked up- from his book to Patterson, who was sitting on his bed, reading, his eyebrows furrowed. It was their free period, and they were both in their dorm, studying silently.

Patterson . . . Regulus had only known him for about a week and a half and already the Slytherin was confusing Regulus beyond anything. He was obviously anti-Voldemort, and yet he was sorted into Slytherin. The Gryffindors treated him like dirt, yet he still defended him. He also relentlessly continued to try to talk to Regulus, no matter how many brush-offs he received. That was just not the Slytherin way.

Regulus glanced down at his textbook, feeling a head-ache coming on. It happened sometimes, every time he got stressed – he'd get a headache. He'd told his mum about it once when he was little. She had replied with a simple, "That's nice. Why would I care?" kind of look. He'd never mentioned it again.

Regulus stood and began to walk down to the common room. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he'd figure something out. Contrary to what people might think, Regulus did like talking to people. He was just . . . shy. He couldn't think of anything to say in the presence of people he didn't feel comfortable with. Unfortunately, that was just about everybody. This was why he was so desperate to please his family – without them, he had no one. He was an outcast in both sides of the war.

Regulus wasn't sure when he noticed something was wrong. It might have been the unusually cold feel of the common room that morning, or maybe the fact that the room was nearly empty.

But the fact that Nott, a well known Death Eater, was standing in the middle of the room, smiling icily up to him, didn't bode well either.

"Regulus," the big, muscular Death Eater said, walking over to where Regulus was standing. He wasn't smiling.

Regulus glanced up nervously at the 'giant', suddenly feeling very small. After a moment's pause, he finally managed to nod. "Nott." He said.

Nott frowned slightly, cocking his head and eyeing Regulus like some science experiment. "It's been a long time." He stated blandly.

Regulus nodded, vague memories of a little Regulus staring up at the seemingly gigantic Nott twelve years ago flashing through his mind.

"You haven't grown much," Nott speculated.

Regulus refrained from answering.

Nott sighed and sat down on a green armchair by the fireplace. "Well, you've probably guessed that I didn't come here to reminisce."

Regulus shrugged and looked into the fire.

"The Dark Lord has sent me, Regulus,"

Regulus felt his heart skip a beat. The Dark Lord had a message for him. That was not good, definitely not good . . .

"He is doubting your loyalty. He has been, ever since you refused a few years back,"

"Yeah." Regulus said through a dry throat.

"But he has decided to grant you another chance. To prove your loyalties." Nott paused, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You must kill Sirius Black before the week's end."

Regulus could almost feel his eyes bulging out of their sockets. Kill Sirius. How was he supposed to kill his brother? His own flesh and blood?

Nott sighed, and stood up. "I would complete this mission if I were you." He suddenly looked up and met Regulus's eye. "You don't want to know what happens to those who disobey."

Regulus nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah." He knew what happened to those who disobeyed. Crucio. The torture curse. His father had described it often enough before he had died. Regulus shut his eyes for a moment, contemplating all his options. He could kill Sirius and regain his honor. Or he could not kill Sirius and suffer . . . suffer the consequences.

Or he could go to Dumbledore . . .

But what could Dumbledore do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Regulus pursed his lips together and gave the fireplace a frustrated glare. He felt completely helpless. His life was no longer in his control. It was in Voldemorts.

Internally cringing, Regulus looked up. "I'll do it."

0-o-0

Harry frowned into a library book. He had been spending so much time at the library lately; Hermione would be proud, ecstatic that he was finally giving his studies the amount of time they deserved. But as a matter of fact, Harry wasn't spending time there to raise his grades. He was there because there wasn't anywhere else to be in his free time. He didn't have a broom so he couldn't go flying (although even if he had one, Harry wasn't sure he'd risk anyone seeing him. He'd already decided that he wasn't join the house team if he could help it), he wasn't a part of any extracurricular activity, and he didn't particularly feel like getting in trouble at the moment. That left two places: the Slytherin common room, or the library. He chose the library.

Harry was currently researching any available methods of time travel. He normally would have asked Dumbledore by now, but he had noticed that the Headmaster had been absent during recent meals, and after an inquiry to Professor McGonagall, had been informed that Dumbledore was attending a meeting with the Chinese Minister of Magic somewhere over in China.

But despite the bad news, the last few days had gone by rather painlessly; he had Ancient Ruins with Remus, which he thought was going pretty well (although he did spot the occasionally suspicious look from Remus), and he had discovered that as long as he kept his mouth shut in Care of Magical Creatures, he was safe – now all he had to do was to actually learn to keep his mouth shut. He had had four Care of Magical Creatures classes so far: The first three had been on Werewolves, the fourth on Basilisks. Needless to say, none of these had turned out well; Harry distinctly remembered seeing red whenever Professor Black had made one particularly nasty comment on Werewolves. Harry didn't exactly remember the details, although he wasn't so sure he wanted to – he had acquired a week's worth of detention, starting the following Monday. Professor Black had turned out to be an extremely strict teacher, with an extreme loathing for all things Gryffindor. Especially things that were named Sirius Black. Harry had heard somewhere that she had a dartboard up in her office with her son's picture on it . . .

Harry hoped they were lying.

He had also discovered that she didn't care about her subject at all. Apparently she had just taken the class because it was the only one open. Every single one of her classes were extremely biased (take that Werewolves class, for instance) and Harry usually had to try hard to restrain himself from giving her a piece of his mind.

Befriending Lily was growing increasingly more difficult. Ever since Bellatrix and her snooty remark, Lily seemed to think he was a Death Eater, and that there was absolutely no chance for him to change, so she might as well keep out of his way. Harry also personally though that her friend _Vicky_ was influencing her. Typical.

But then, that was the way life typically worked.

In Defense they had been learning about Dementors and Lethifolds . . . Echols had also promised to teach them the Patronus Charm. He had postponed that lesson back a day, though, and had decided to replace it with a completely random, completely pointless dueling lesson. Harry might have brought some unnecessary attention to himself that day, but it was better than the Patronus. Anything was better than the Patronus. Harry was dreading the day that the Marauders saw their very own Prongs gallop through the classroom.

That day came all too soon, though. All of the students had just been seated, and Echols had just finished passing out the results of a short quiz on dueling technique, when Professor Echols took a step back to the board and clasped his hands together.

"Now, for the lesson you've all been waiting for. How many of you here can tell me what a Patronus is?"

Lily raised her hand. "It's a barrier of light used to fight off Dementors."

"That is correct, Miss Evans. Ten points to Gryffindor!

"The Patronus charm is what we're going to attempt to do today. Now, a full blown Patronus is extremely difficult, so don't expect to get it on your first try. Most of you will only get some silvery mist if you're lucky. However, one you get the hang of it, your Patronus should take the form of an animal. Does anyone know what distinguishes this animal from any other?"

Nobody moved.

"Mr. Patterson?" Echols smiled his knowing smile, knowing full well that Harry knew all about Patroni . . . as he had demonstrated on that placement test.

Harry cringed before replying. "It's something that you would look to for help . . . like a father figure of sorts."

"Excellent. Ten points for Slytherin! Now, does anyone know the incantation? Mr. Patterson?"

Harry sighed. "Expecto Patronum."

"Yes, very good. Another ten points to Slytherin. Something most people don't know about a Patronus is that they can change. If a somewhat traumatic event happens in a person's life, their Patronus will change according to their views of the world. Mr. Patterson, you seem to be very knowledgeable about this subject. Have you done this before?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said politely.

"Do you know you're form, yet?"

"Yes," Harry swallowed, willing his Professor not to ask exactly what his form was . . .

"What is it?"

"A stag . . ."

"Would you like to give us a demonstration, before we begin?"

"Not really," Harry replied truthfully.

"Oh, come, come, now, Harry. Surely it won't be that terrible?"

_You have no idea_, Harry thought bitterly, visions of the Marauders when they saw their very own Prongs floating about the room rushing through his head.

"Harry, you say that you can create a corporal Patronus, yet you refuse to give us a demonstration." The man squinted, suddenly suspicious. "You're not lying to me are you?"

Through the corner of his eye, Harry saw the triumphant smirks being exchanged among the Marauders. He promptly glared at them. At that moment, James wasn't his father; he was just some arrogant, anger-provoking kid, and Harry decided that it didn't matter if they saw his Patronus. Let them be suspicious; he couldn't care less.

Harry stood. "_Expecto patronum_!" He said, both loudly and forcefully. A white form soared from the tip of Harry's wand . . . it took only a moment for Harry to realize that something was wrong. Stags don't _soar_. To soar, you have to fly first. Yet this Patronus was flying . . . and had wings . . . and no antlers . . .

It was a phoenix.

A _phoenix_.

Harry watched in shocked amazement, his anger long gone, as the bird turned to look Harry in the eye, before vanishing in a swish of gold-tinged air.

Professor Echols turned to Harry, a gleefully suspicious look on his face. "Quite impressive, Mr. Patterson, I must say . . . but didn't you tell us it was a stag?"

"It-- it was," Harry croaked out.

"The last time you did this?"

Harry nodded.

"Well then, the answer is obvious. Class, this is the perfect example: Harry's Patronus has changed, can anyone tell me the reason?"

James Potter lazily raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"The 'stag' lost his respect." James didn't quite realize how ironic that statement was coming from him.

"Exactly right! Now, traumatic experiences can be a great many things -- you may sit down, now, Mr. Patterson—from deaths, to abuse, to . . ."

Harry moved to his desk in a slight daze, avoiding any and all eyes staring at him. James had lost his respect . . . Harry had realized what kind of person his father was some time ago, but somehow he hadn't put two and two together. As wonderful as a phoenix was, Harry couldn't help but prefer his stag . . .

0-o-0

James Potter was not happy; he was annoyed. No, annoyed was an understatement. He was _extremely_ annoyed. _Why_ did Lily keep standing up for Patterson? It just didn't make any sense! She hated him, Her friend had said so. So why did she keep fighting James?

James sighed loudly, earning a mild glare from the Herbology teacher, and sent a heated glare to what was soon becoming the bane of his existence: Harry Patterson. _Patterson_, with his evil manipulation talents, and false innocence. James knew he was guilty, he just knew it. What made it worse was that James was quickly losing credibility with his friends. They thought James was just angry because of Lily. Well. He'd show them . . .

He just needed to find a way how. James did a quick rundown of everything he knew about Patterson: he was a transfer from Durmstrang. Had blonde hair. Obsessed with Lily. Kept trying to make friends with the Marauders. Way too good at Defense Against the Dark Arts for it to be a coincidence. And . . .

That was it.

He needed evidence. Cold, hard, evidence . . .

" . . . must not, in any circumstances, touch the petals with your skin. They exclude a dangerous chemical that cause damage to the nervous system. Now, everybody reach for your Tentacula . . ." The Herbology professor was saying.

James frowned, and stared down at his plant. It looked harmless enough. As long as he didn't touch the petals, he'd be fine. James reached down to the plant, vaguely wondering what in the world they were supposed to _do_ with it . . . maybe he should have listened after all . . .

Looking around, he saw the rest of the students cutting off leaves. James sighed in relief. They were trimming it. That was it. James reached down and plucked a leaf off. There. That would do it.

James picked up his pot, and started to head toward his teacher. "Professor, I'm fin—"

_Crash_.

Professor Holeyoke gasped and ran over to her injured student, who was currently sprawled on the floor. Had James actually looked down while he was walking, he might have noticed that large root lying on the floor. Had James actually seen the root, he might have taken care to lift his foot just a bit higher off the ground. Instead, he was lying on the ground, his half-trimmed Tentacula mashed underneath his arm, in all it's nervous-system-killing glory.

The Professor's eyes widened in alarm. "Doctor, need a doctor . . ." she muttered under her breath, scooping James up and leaning the now unconscious boy against the wall.

"Mr. Lupin! Get the nurse! Quickly!"

Remus Lupin nodded quickly and rushed out of the Herbology classroom.

0-o-0

"Are you serious?" Lily Evans gasped.

"Well, duh," Sirius said, with a slight smirk. "Everyone knows that."

Lily rolled her eyes in frustration. "Yeah. I get that, but—"

"Yes, James was almost killed in Herbology." Sirius grinned. "And you have no idea how much it would speed his recovery if you would go and see him."

Lily frowned. "Um."

"Come on, Lily." Sirius internally applauded himself for having the nerve to use her first name. "Do you really want to have that on your conscience? That James Potter died when you could have saved him?"

"You know what? I think you're lying." Lily accused. " _But_, I am going to go see him, if just to prove you wrong," Here she shot Sirius a dirty glare, before hurrying off in the general direction of the hospital wing.

Sirius smirked. Yes. He was good. James would have to thank him later. And the best part was, technically, James really could have died . . . if potions didn't exist, and Madam Kedeny wasn't such a skilled healer. So, _technically_, Sirius wasn't lying.

And, with a wide grin on his face, Sirius strolled in the opposite direction, whistling absentmindedly and dreaming up all the possible favors James would do for him in return . . .

0-o-0

Lily rushed into the hospital wing, expecting a perfectly fine Potter and a truckload of visitors: she found neither. The nurse was nowhere in sight and Potter was . . . laying on a bed, connected to numerous wires . . . never a good sign . . . which meant that he was actually hurt. And that Sirius had been telling the truth. And Lily had come here for absolutely no reason at all . . . unless she wanted to visit Potter. Internally rolling her eyes at herself, Lily turned around and made to march right back where she came from.

"Evans?"

Lily scowled and glared at the door, before forcing a smile on her face and turning around to face Potter. "Uh-huh."

"You're here?"

"Yeah."

"To see me?"

Lily shrugged helplessly. "Apparently."

"Really?"

"Yes,"

Potter's mouth stretched into the widest grin Lily had ever seen, and he reached down to pat the chair beside his bed. "Need a seat?"

"No, Potter," Lily replied. "I'm not staying, just um, saying hi . . ."

Potter's face fell.

Lily bit her tongue and glanced back at the door; oh, it looked so tempting . . .

"Miss Evans?" Madam Kedeny's voice called impatiently. "Is that you?"

Lily cringed. "Yeah."

"Fantastic!" The nurse suddenly appeared from the door to the storage room, her hands full of vials. "How would you like to give Potter his meds?"

"Uhhh . . ." Lily said faintly, glancing over to see an amused looking Potter give her a thumbs up.

"Fantastic!" The petite woman rushed up to Lily and shoved four vials into her hands. "These need to be taken by mouth, this you drip in his eyes, two drops each . . ." Approximately ten minutes later, Potter had taken all of his potions (without any complaints, Lily was surprised to say) and was leaning back in bed, watching Lily out of the corner of his eye. Lily had returned to her chair, and was fidgeting uncomfortably with her fingers.

"So . . ." Lily said uncomfortably.

"How's, um, your family been these days?" Potter asked.

Lily gave Potter a sideways look. "Fine, I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary . . ."

"Oh," Potter said.

Silence.

"So, how did you . . ." Lily gestured vaguely to the Hospital Wing.

"Land here?" Potter filled in. "Herbology. Two words: Tentaculas _suck_."

Lily almost smiled.

Potter's smile grew brighter. "Yeah. I was headed towards the teacher when . . . one of those jumbo flytrap things reached out and grabbed my leg – nearly ripped it off, too."

"Really?" Lily asked, subconsciously widening her eyes.

Potter nodded seriously. "Yup. So I flung myself foreword and just _barely_ got away, and then I landed on the Tentacula, and well . . ."

"Yeah." Lily glanced down at her watch. "I've got to go now – Divination," Lily made a face, "Hope you get better soon,"

"Thanks. See ya later, Lily."

Lily frowned slightly, but let his use of her first name slide. "Bye . . ."

0-o-0

Silently, Harry stared out the window of the Astronomy tower. It was eight o'clock at night; the classes were over, dinner had finished, and so for now, Harry had decided to sit down, relax, let himself unwind . . . hopefully this would improve his temper a bit.

"Hello, Harry!" Professor Dumbledore's voice said suddenly, shocking Harry out of his reverie. Harry glanced back at the old Headmaster.

"You're back," he said.

"Indeed I am," Dumbledore replied. "I've been looking for you," Dumbledore continued, "I have a few questions that I think might be better asked in my office. Would you accompany me there?"

Harry glanced back at the sky before shrugging. "Sure."

"Excellent!" Dumbledore said. "Follow me, if you please . . ."

The two made their way to Dumbledore's office. Once there, Dumbledore sat down and offered Harry a seat.

"As I said, I have a few questions," Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded.

"First- why did you lie to me about your house?"

Harry sent Dumbledore an irritated glance. "I didn't lie. I was in Gryffindor in my time,"

"Harry," Dumbledore reprimanded lightly. "The sorting hat is never wrong. Why did you lie to me?"

"I didn't."

"Harry—"

"I didn't lie, Dumbledore." Harry repeated firmly.

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, before Harry felt the unmistakable prod of Legilimancy . . . Harry sent Dumbledore a glare and averted his eyes. The presence retreated.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I have never seen the Sorting Hat change its mind before."

"It wanted to put me in Slytherin at first," Harry admitted. "But I told it not to."

"Might I ask why?"

Harry shrugged. "My friend was in Gryffindor . . . my enemies were in Slytherin."

"Enemies?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yeah. Plural."

"I see . . ." Dumbledore trailed off.

"Can I ask you something, sir?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore nodded.

"Do you know how I'm going to get back to my time?"

Dumbledore frowned slightly. "I do, Harry. There is a spell, Volterus Occult, that will bring you back. However, for it to work, the person it is being used on must drink a potion which will take months to make, at the very least."

"Months?" Harry repeated numbly.

"Yes, months."

"Months . . ." Harry repeated again. He stood up, shaking his head. "I'm going to head back to my dormitory, now," Harry took a few steps toward the door, before glancing to see if Dumbledore was going to object. He didn't, so Harry continued out the door.

0-o-0

Review :)


	6. Confrontations

Harry Potter was feeling dizzy. And yes, that was a figure of speech.

He felt like everything was spinning out of control, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. First off, there was his Patronus. His Patronus that was a Phoenix. A bird. And not a stag. Did no one else see the problem with that?

And then, Lily was drifting further and further away. Harry just knew it. She, too, thought he was a Death Eater, which was a problem in and of itself . . .

And next, there was Dumbledore. Dumbledore the elderly, kind, grandfatherly old man. Dumbledore the annoying, meddlesome, old coot. Dumbledore, the accusing, manipulative Lord of the Light. Honestly, the guy must have Multiple Personality Disorder. Who was he really? Harry honestly didn't know anymore. And if he thought that Harry was ever going to go to him for advice ever again . . . well. He'd better think again.

Sighing, Harry pressed his forefingers to his temples. He was overreacting. This Dumbledore didn't even know him. This Dumbledore was not his Dumbledore . . .

_Just like this Snape was not his Snape right? _

Uhhhh. Wow. Harry couldn't fault the reasoning there . . .

But that was a matter for another time, and Harry really didn't need anything else stressing him at the moment. He needed to just relax, and go with the flow . . .

Right.

Go with the flow . . . like a fish. _Yeah, that's right. Think fish, Potter, think fish_ . . .

But he didn't live in the water . . .

Dang. There went that train of thought.

And then Harry rolled his eyes. He was thinking about fish, for heaven's sake! He needed to do something to take his mind off everything. He needed to fly on his broom, feel the fresh air on his face—

Which was yet _another_ thing he couldn't do.

Harry glared at the library book he was holding (_Understanding Time and its Theories_, but Lydia Cornwall) before slamming it shut and shoving it aggressively into his bag. He needed to vent. He needed to scream into a pillow, scream at Ron and Hermione, back-talk Snape—

Snape.

And he was right back where he had started . . .

Was this Snape good or bad? The question was driving Harry insane. He had been rooming with him for almost two weeks and what had he found out? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Well, not quite nothing. Snape was quiet and cunning, evasive and ill-tempered. Nearly everyone stayed away from him, save the select few Slytherins who used him for his brilliance in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

And then there were the Marauders, who picked on him every moment of the day.

Harry frowned for a moment and tried to picture things from Snape's point of view. He was sorted into a house stereotyped as evil, ugly, hated on sight by almost everyone, and used by the few people who tolerate him. The one person who had tried to be friends with him (Lily) had eventually turned away, and he was picked on by the Marauders, the epitome of what the light stands for . . . brave, impulsive, heroic, and let's not forget good looking . . .

Harry bit his lip. Okay. So things really didn't look so good from Snape's side. Harry could almost understand why Snape turned dark, after all, if that was what the so-called Light was supposed to be . . .

Ugh. Harry did not just think that.

But all the same, maybe giving Snape a chance wouldn't be so bad. At the very least, it would make for some decent blackmailing when Harry got back to the present . . .

Well. That was decided. Harry would go find Snape, and then . . . well . . . he'd deal with it when it arrived.

Sighing loudly, Harry stood from his bed in his dormitory and headed straight to the library, where Snape would undoubtedly be. Harry cringed as he approached the turn that would take him there. What in the world was he going to say to the teenager that would later turn into Dumbledore's murderer?

But he wasn't going to chicken out. He was a Gryffindor at heart, and he was going to prove it. Straightening, Harry strode purposefully into the library, only to find that Snape was not in the student-approved section of the library. Or in the restricted section. As it turned out, Snape was not in the library at all. He was in the abandoned corridor next to it.

Hovering upside-down, unconscious.

Harry felt his blood run cold at the sight. The. Marauders. Were. . . . were . . . well, Harry couldn't think of the right word at the moment, but it was something, really, really, bad.

Jerks, maybe?

Harry hurried to Snape's side and broke the spell, casting Wingardium Leviosa to keep the teenager from falling to the ground. Harry set him down gently, before shaking him lightly to wake him up. Snape groaned blearily, before the memories of what had happened came back to him. He shot up into a sitting position, his head hitting Harry's with a loud 'clonk!' Harry bit back a groan and rubbed his soar forehead, leaning back to wait for Snape to get used to the surroundings.

The boy looked around, body taunt, before his eyes finally landed on Harry.

"Patterson?" He asked, voice hoarse.

Harry smiled weakly. "That's me."

"And the . . . the Marauders? Where are they?"

Harry shrugged. "Beats me. I just got here and found you hanging up there," Harry gestured vaguely to the ceiling.

Snape's face darkened. "I hate them." He said bluntly.

"Yeah," Harry said bitterly. "I know."

"You know what?" Harry said suddenly.

Snape gave Harry a questioning look.

"How does revenge sound to you? Some good, old-fashioned payback?" Yeah. They'd give them a dose of their own medicine. The Marauders would never know what hit them.

Snape's eyes brightened slightly. "Yeah. That does sound good . . . you know, I found a new curse . . . it's called Sectumsempra, we should try it . . . "

"Uhhh," Harry started uncertainly, a vaguely sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. _Give Snape a chance, give Snape a chance_ . . . "I was thinking more along the lines of . . . pranks. Y'know . . . like growing orange hair. Or singing during dinner. Or giving them detention . . ."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Who says Sectumsempra isn't like that?"

"No one." Harry said hurriedly. "It just—I was just clarifying."

"Of course," Snape still sounded skeptical, but he seemed to have accepted that explanation for now.

"Yeah."

"Well. How do you suppose to go with these so-called pranks of yours?"

"I haven't gotten that far yet. I'll let you know when I'm there, though."

Snape cocked an eyebrow at Harry skeptically. "Are you sure you're a Slytherin?"

_No_. "Sorting Hat said so, didn't it?"

"I suppose . . ."

"Exactly. So let's go back to the dorms and brainstorm, yeah?" Harry offered, standing up, and taking a step toward the general direction of the dungeons.

Snape eyed him wearily, but eventually stood and followed. "Yeah. Okay, Patterson. Let's see what you can come up with."

0-o-0

HmmHkdsjfasd ddThe following morning, back in the Gryffindor dormitory, Remus was the first person awake. Peter, James (who had returned from the hospital wing the night before), and Sirius were still dozing in the land of the dead, so Remus decided to make use of the showers. It was Saturday, so Remus doubted his friends would wake any time soon. A quick glance at them made up his mind, and ten minutes later, Remus found himself entering the great hall. It was about 7:30 in the morning and the tables were unusually empty. At the Gryffindor table, Lily sat munching on a roll, sitting a few seats away from a few chit-chattery third years, looking contemplative. Remus walked over to her.

"Hey, Lily," he said with a small smile.

""Hi," She said thoughtfully. Then she said bluntly, "What do you think of Patterson?"

Remus nearly choked. "Patterson?"

"Uh-huh," Lily replied, nodding. "He's driving me insane! He keeps trying to talk to me, despite the fact that I'm muggleborn, and he keeps staring at me with that same, disappointed look – see, there! He's doing it again!"

Remus looked up just in time to see the Slytherin look away, only to glare at his oatmeal.

"I just don't know what to think of him!" Lily said, "He doesn't _seem_ like a Death Eater, but Black insinuated that he was . . ."

Remus nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I see what you mean."

"Do _you_ think he's a Death Eater?" Lily asked. She pushed some of her red hair back behind her ear. "Well?"

"I—" Remus hesitated. "I'm not sure. James is convinced he is, though I suspect that has more to do with you siding with him than because of Patterson himself. Sirius hates him because he's in Slytherin. Peter hates him because James and Sirius do . . ."

"I didn't ask for _their_ opinions," Lily reprimanded lightly. "I asked for yours," When Remus didn't answer immediately, she continued, "I know you've been bullying him with your friends," her nose wrinkled in distaste, "lately. Do you at least have a good reason?"

Remus bit his lip. "I don't know,"

Lily frowned and her vivid green eyes looked disappointed. "Oh,"

Silence.

Finally, Lily stood up. "I'm going to go talk to him," she announced.

Remus blinked in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Completely. And I'm going to have to face him sometime. Might as well do it now when Vicky can't chew me out for it,"

Remus only shrugged.

0-o-0

Lilly stood nervously and made her way to the Slytherin table, trying to fight her nerves. There were no Lestranges or Blacks there, so that was good. She was Head Girl anyway, so it wasn't like they could do much of anything to her.

Not 'till Christmas anyway . . .

She'd just leave if Patterson gave off any bad vibes.

As soon as Patterson noticed her coming, he turned towards her and his eyes brightened almost immediately.

"Hi," he said with a smile.

"Hi," Lily returned awkwardly. "Listen, no offense, but I really, really, need to know, if only to prove Potter wrong, so, I uh . . ."

Patterson cocked his head to the side curiously.

Lily glanced around nervously before lowering her voice. "Are you a Death Eater?"

Patterson only stared at her for a moment. "No."

"Are you to become one any time soon . . .?"

"No. Never."

Lily smiled in relief. "Good."

"You believe me? Just like that?"

Lily swallowed. "Yeah."

Patterson grinned. "Good." His smile faded as his gaze flickered to the door to the great hall where Bellatrix Black was walking in. "You may want to go. I may be on the light side, but unfortunately, I can't say the same for _her_," Patterson jabbed his thumb in Bellatrix's general direction, a barely concealed look of disgust on his face.

"Yeah," Lily agreed. She took a step towards the Gryffindor table before hesitating. "See you around, Patterson . . ."

"Harry," Patterson said lightly.

"Right. Harry."

Pa—no, _Harry_ snuck her a grin as Lily Evans walked away, forcing his face to appear calm. But on the inside, he felt like jumping up and dancing. Who cared if he was stuck twenty years in the past surrounded by Death Eaters if his mother actually _cared_ about him?

0-o-0

Way over at the Gryffindor table, one Remus Lupin watched the exchange carefully. Even now, Lily was walking back to the table looking relieved and Patterson was practically beaming at everything that crossed his path.

Remus had a pretty good hunch what Patterson's answer had been.

Lily sat down in her seat and sighed loudly. "Well, that wasn't too bad."

"Uh-huh," Remus said. "So . . . he's not a Death Eater?"

"Nope," Lily replied. "Oh, I can't wait to rub this in Potter's arrogant face! – sorry, Remus."

Remus only shrugged.

"And maybe this'll convince him that not all Slytherins are bad. And you can help me!" Lily said excitedly.

"Erm," Remus started. He could not imagine going against the Marauders. They were his friends. His best friends. His only friends. What if they turned his back on him? What would he do then? He'd be the outcast, the freak . . .

Again.

Lily shot Remus a frown, and her eyes adopted a pleading look. "Please tell me you're not going to take their side."

"I'm not going to take _their_ side," Remus protested. "I'm just . . . not going to take yours."

"Remus!" Lily exclaimed, exasperated. "Please? I need you!"

"No, Lily, really, I just . . . can't . . . Sirius, he'll—he'll get mad at me and—"

"Oh, come on, Remus! Grow a backbone!"

Remus bit his lip and slunk down in his seat. He couldn't help it if he depended on his friends. He just didn't have that automatic self-confidence and self-esteem that Lily and James had. Without his friends, he'd be . . . nothing.

Lily then frowned and shot Remus an apologetic look. "Sorry. That was insensitive."

"'S'okay . . ." Remus muttered.

"But really, Remus. You've got to stand up for yourself. Don't just agree with them because you're afraid you'll get rejected. If they can't accept you for who you are, then they don't deserve you at all. And either way, I doubt they'd reject you anyway. They'd be nothing without the pranking mastermind that is Remus Lupin." Lily grinned childishly.

Remus smiled weakly at Lily. "Thanks. I'll think on it"

0-o-0

Harry was nearly skipping with joy as he made his way to that morning's Potion's class. Lily like him. Lily LIKED him. It was enough to put him in a good mood for . . . forever! He had even smiled at Dumbledore in the halls! Yes, he was floating in Cloud Nine, skipping on the clouds, and nothing could ever stop him—

"Hey, Patterson!"

Except that.

James Potter stalked up to him, eyes flashing. "What did you to Lily?"

Harry stared at James in confusion. "What?"

"I'll ask you one more time—_What did you do to Lily_?" James was really close now, and Harry could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

"Nothing." Harry replied.

"Nothing?" James growled. He took a step foreword and shoved Harry's smaller frame against the wall. Harry winced. "She's been in my face all day, telling me that you're not a Death Eater and that I should back off! What did you do to her?"

Harry sent James a Death glare. "I didn't do anything to her except tell her the truth. She asked me if I was a Death Eater, and I told her no."

"You lied." James bit out.

"No I didn't!" Harry said through clenched teeth. "Now let me go, I have class—"

"Too bad," James said. Closing his eyes in frustration, Harry fingered his wand, careful not to alert James, before glancing around to see if Lupin was hiding in the corner somewhere.

"Expelliarmous! Levicorpus!"

Stunned by the quick retaliation, all James could do was stand there and watch as he was thrown into the air, his wand flying towards his enemy.

Harry walked towards his father, his wand in his right hand, James's in his left.

"_Let me down_, Patterson!" James commanded.

"Why should I?" Harry asked angrily. "You do this to Snape and I all the time. In fact, if we're going that direction, I should curse you too—I mean, that's what the you'd do, right?"

James didn't answer, but seemed to content himself with a glare.

"But I'm not you," Harry continued. "I don't hurt people to entertain myself."

Harry murmured the spell to release James, not caring in the slightest if the landing was gentle or not. Giving James a challenging look, he tossed the teenager's wand over to him. James gave Harry a furious look, but didn't do anything but turn and stalk away.

A few minutes later, a moody Harry Potter sat down in Potions. Snape sent him the barest of smiles. Harry blinked in confusion at first, but forced a smile back when he remembered – he and Snape were partners now. They didn't have anything to pull on the Marauders yet, but when they did . . . Harry definitely needed a camera.

Professor Slughorn was much the same as he had been in the future, if a few pounds lighter and a bit more optimistic. He had yet to draft Harry into his 'Slug Club' though – Harry had been set on avoiding Slughorn at all costs ever since the first day he had seen the Potions Professor. He wasn't even sure if Slughorn wanted him yet, but he wasn't going to take that chance, not this time around. Surprisingly, there were only nine NEWT students in Slughorn's class; Harry, Lily, Snape, Rabastian, Regulus, Remus, and a few other Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that Harry didn't know the name of.

Suddenly the door burst open.

"Hello," Slughorn greeted cheerfully. He smiled lightly, and his big belly jiggled slightly as he moved. "Now, as I mentioned Tuesday, today we will be brewing the Elixar of Life. Does anyone know what this does? Miss Evans?"

Lily bit her lip. "I don't know, sir,"

Slughorn's eyebrow raised in surprise. "Really? Well, then . . . how about . . . Mr. Snape?"

Harry glanced over to Snape's form, thinking that the words Mr. Snape just did not sound natural together . . .

Snape glanced up at his professor and then answered. "The Elixir of life is a potion that elongates the life of the drinker."

"Yes, yes, very good. Five points to Slytherin. Well, as I said, today we will be brewing it. Well, actually, not necessarily brewing it . . . what you will be making today is, essentially, a prototype. The real Elixir needs the Philosopher's stone to be added, and, as we do not have access to that particular ingredient, you all will just use one of the pebbles up here as a substitute. _Do not drink your potion_. It is not the Elixir, just an example and will cause some rather unorthodox side effects if internalized . . . Everybody partner with your tablemate . . . Mr. Patterson, you'll be with Messrs Snape and Black."

Harry glanced over to the two Slytherins and instinctively cringed. He was trying to get to know Snape, he really was, but sometimes the Slytherin just bugged him. They had nothing in common. However, Harry knew for a fact that Snape was a pretty darn good Potions maker . . .

Picking up his Potions book, he traveled reluctantly to their table. Regulus glanced up and gave him a forced smile in greeting. Snape had his eyes focused intently on the Potions manual, his lips moving ever so slightly.

"I'll get the ingredients," Harry said, breaking the silence.

"I'll help," Regulus offered quietly. Harry shrugged his assent and the pair walked over to the ingredient store. Harry glanced down at his textbook, then back up hopelessly at the endless rows of vials. He cleared his throat and glanced over at Regulus. "Any idea where Root of Murtlock is?" Harry asked.

"Over here . . ." Regulus reached over and pulled out a vial filled with some sort of dry, dirt-like substance. Harry swallowed as he reached for the next ingredient. "So. Are you any good at potions?"

Regulus shrugged. "I'm average. Snape's really good, though."

"Yeah," Harry said with a grimace. "I know."

Seeming to sense something in Harry's voice, Regulus frowned said, "I know he's not the friendliest bloke, but he's not all bad."

A vision of Snape raising his wand to Dumbledore saying the words that had taken the Headmaster's life flashed through Harry's mind . . . Harry countered it with the image of Snape, upsisde-down and unconscious in an abandoned corridor. _Give Snape a chance, give Snape a chance . . ._

"That's all," Regulus announced, going back to their table with his arms full of vials; Harry followed suit.

Snape already had everything set up at the table; there were three silver knives gleaming on the far left, a balance scale on the right and one gleaming cauldron in the center. There were also numerous silver instruments, all lined up perfectly at the head of the table. Harry's mind flew back to his days at Hogwarts, and conjured up an image of Snape's over-organized office. Well, obviously some things never changed.

"You have everything?" Snape asked.

"Yeah," Regulus replied.

Snape's eyes flecked over the ingredients and he nodded. "You can start off by cutting this," he gestured toward something that looked vaguely like a tree branch.

Harry frowned and looked down into the book. Sure enough, it said to cobine two Liters of water with some Acromantula venom first. Harry pointed this out to Snape.

Snape frowned, slightly impatient. "Yes, but you need to add this exactly three seconds after the last counter clockwise turn otherwise the mixture will go sour,"

Harry felt his face heat up slightly. "Oh. Right." Well, he supposed, that's what he got for trying to correct a future Potions' Master . . .

Once Regulus and Harry had finished cutting up the thing, Snape added the liquids and delicately stirred it three times clockwise, then eight times counterclockwise before dumping the other ingredients in with one fluid motion. The potion simmered, a few bubbles popping out the top before the potion settled at a light blue color. Harry watched in slight awe. Regulus gave him a barely concealed I-told-you-so look.

Suddenly, Snape frowned, leaned over and scribbled something in his Potions book. Harry was surprised for a moment, but then remembered: Snape was the Half Blood Prince. He was probably writing some of those brilliant instructions that had given Harry a passing grade that year . . .

Finally, Professor Slughorn ordered for the Potions to be bottled up and turned in, and Potions was over. Looking back on it, Harry felt slightly guilty that Snape had done all the work and he and Regulus had just stood there, following some instructions that were few and far between. But then again, if Harry _had_ helped, they probably wouldn't have a chance in getting an 'O' . . .

Harry took one of the Marauder's shortcuts to Care of Magical Creatures (though he carefully checked to see if the Marauder's were actually _in_ them first), walking slowly. Back in his time, Care of Magical Creatures was a class where everything was neutral to him; he didn't love it, but he didn't hate it either. In all honesty, Harry wasn't very fond of the Magical Creatures themselves, especially considering all of the times they had tried to do him in. What little liking he had for it was due to Hagrid. Now that Hagrid was gone, however . . .

Harry was _not_ very fond of that class anymore.

Professor Black was like Umbridge all over again, if you zapped the pink kittens and procured something black and evil in its place. She didn't stay in Hagrid's hut, but stayed in the castle, only venturing out of it for her classes. So far they had covered Werewolves and Vampires: today, they were due for their first test of the year. Harry arrived at the outdoor building Professor Black had requested to be made (though Harry doubted it was really so much 'requested' as 'demanded') and took a seat. He was not the first one there; the Marauders were huddled in a corner, talking seriously, and another Gryffindor was leaning back in her chair, reading a book. In the back of Harry's mind, he vaguely wondered why the Marauders seemed to just be _everywhere_ . . .

Professor Black was sitting in her desk, eying her students with open disdain. Her back was perfectly straight, and she was carelessly leafing through papers as though they were bugs.

Harry glanced towards the Marauders then back towards Professor Black. Now was probably the best time to talk to his dad, if ever . . . especially with such a Slytherin-biased teacher there. And now that he had Lily on his side . . . Gathering up all the Gryffindor courage he could muster, he pulled his shoulders back and marched right up to them.

Sirius was the first to notice; his eyes widened, and gave Harry a look that clearly said that he thought Harry was mentally challenged. Then, James noticing Sirius's face, turned. His face darkened.

"What are you doing here, Snake-face?"

"I want to talk," Harry said flatly.

"Well, I have nothing to say to you, Patterson, so just get lost or—"

"No. Not before I've had my say," Harry replied icily. A few feet away, Remus eyed him curiously. Pettigrew just stared at Harry in open disbelief.

Sirius rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but Remus elbowed him in the side and nodded his head towards Professor Black.

"Oh," Sirius said, in sudden comprehension. "That's why you're talking to us here. Because we can't do anything to you . . ." James's eyes widened and he glared viciously at Harry.

"Yeah, well it wouldn't be very smart for me to just walk up to you when we both know full well what'll happen, now would it?" Harry retorted.

Sirius muttered something unintelligible.

"Fine. Just get on with it, Patterson," James said icily.

"Alright. I want to know why you've been so rotten to me ever since I got here. I've never done anything to you." _Except get sorted into Slytherin . ._ . "I know that the prejudices here are strong, but don't you think you're going a bit overboard?"

"You're one to be talking about prejudices, _Corpse Muncher_. Tortured any muggleborns lately?" James taunted.

Harry's insides froze and he sent James a death glare. "I am not, and I will never be, a Death Eater. You need proof? Well here it is!"

Still leveling the Marauders with death glares, Harry shoved up both of his sleeves to reveal his forearms.

James opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to be at a loss for what to say

Remus averted his eyes guiltily and looked down for a moment. "You're right. We shouldn't have judged you so quickly."

"_What_?" Sirius exploded.

"Yeah, Remus, _what_?" Pettigrew echoed. Harry shot him a disgusted look.

"We judged him without getting to know him. Sirius, _you_ of all people should be able to understand that." Remus said icily.

"We did not judge him without getting to know him," Sirius retorted.

"Yeah," James backed, "Ever heard the saying, 'You are who you hang out with'?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"But what? He's friends with Death Eaters!" James exploded.

"He's friends with just _who_, Mr. Potter?" A cold voice asked from above Harry's shoulder. Sirius paled instantly, and James clenched his jaw in annoyance. Remus averted his face towards the wall.

"Nobody," James ground out.

Professor Black took a step foreword, and her dark eyes flashed dangerously. "Detention, Mr. Potter. Seven o'clock, my office. And as for you," she turned towards Sirius, then smirked slightly. "I have a feeling I won't have to deal with you for much longer,"

Sirius sent his mother a look of utter contempt, before leaning back in his seat and glaring at the wall, as if it alone were the cause of his problems.

"And Mr. Patterson," Black folded her arm and licked her lips, eying him up and down as if he were some type of potion ingredient. "What shall we do with you?"

James blinked and glanced at her, obviously confused as to why she was giving Harry, one of her supposed favorite Slytherins, punishment. Remus shot him a mild 'See what I mean?' look.

Harry met her eyes, forcing what he hoped was a neutral expression. It was only too late when he realized that she just might be a Legilimens . . .

"Detention." The woman finally decided. "Tomorrow. Seven o'clock . . ."

Harry nodded stiffly and moved to go back to his seat on the other end of the classroom, but Professor Black stopped him. Her touch sent uncomfortable shivers down his spine, and he stiffened immediately.

"You won't be going anywhere, Mr. Patterson. Since you are obviously eager to cohere with Gryffindors," Her eyes narrowed in distaste, "I think it should be only fitting that you sit with them yourself."

Harry distinctly heard snickering, and a quick glance around the room told him that a good number of students had arrived while he had been talking to the Marauders. Rabastian Lestrange leaned back in Harry's former seat, met Harry's eyes and smirked. Harry shot him a dirty look before plopping down in the seat to the left of Remus.

"Okay, ma'am." Harry said tonelessly.

Black smiled. "Good. Very good." She turned to the class and strode up to the front. "Now as you al know, there is a test today. It will appear on your desk in approximately," She glanced at the clock, "Fifteen seconds. As soon as you see it you may begin. You have forty-five minutes to complete it."

0-o-0

Hours later, in the Slytherin common room, Rabastian Lestrange smirked and tossed his bag carelessly on the floor before reclining on the couch in the Slytherin common rooms. "Have you heard?"

"Heard what?" Snape asked suspiciously from beside him.

Rabastian cocked an eyebrow before glancing over to Regulus, who seemed to be diligently taking Transfiguration notes in the armchair by the fire. "Little Reggie's got himself his first assignment."

"Really . . ." Snape muttered. "What does he need to do?"

Rabastian's smirk grew. "Kill Sirius Black."

Snape's widened slightly, but he looked distinctly pleased.

Rabastian reached for a book and sighed exaggeratedly. "Sweet, sweet, revenge . . ."

Over on the armchair in front of the fire, staring blankly at his Transfiguration homework, Regulus sat stiffly, his heart racing. What in the _world_ was he going to do? And, more importantly, _how_ was he going to do it? How did one go about murdering someone inside of Albus Dumbledore's school? It just wasn't possible. There was no way. Aurors would check his wand. Somebody might see. And he wouldn't put it pass the ministry to cast Legilimens on him against his will . . .

Regulus sighed in frustration and glared up at the ceiling. Patterson had just walked in and was going up to the dormitories, his shoulders undeniably stiff – no surprises there. Patterson had hardly spent any time in the common room since he had gotten there. He spent every waking moment outside class either in the dormitory or the library.

A group of first years were giggling over on the sofa, and Rabastian, Snape, and the rest of the new Death Eater recruits were huddled a few feet away, discussing Regulus's new assignment. Regulus had no doubt that not one of them would not shed a tear when Sirius died.

If Sirius died . . .

Which reminded him. He only had four days left. He needed a plan.

No Unforgiveables for sure. Dumbledore would know immediately. No Dark Arts for the same reason.

Should he use a muggle method? That way they wouldn't have any definite way of tracking him down . . . but did the muggles have a way? Surely they had developed something. But then again, most wizards didn't know muggle techniques.

That was his answer then. Now all he need was to figure out which muggle way he was going to use . . . how he was going research it without people getting suspicious . . . how he was going to get Sirius away from his friends without being too obvious . . . how to dispose of the body . . . an excuse as to why Sirius had disappeared . . . and most importantly, how _not_ to get caught.

And so far he had . . . zero out of six. Not a good record so far.

Feeling completely helpless, Regulus sunk further into the armchair, staring at the fire through unseeing eyes. _What was he going to do?_

0-o-0

If Harry had thought Walburga's Black's portrait was bad, it was nothing compared to the real thing. Harry reported to detention the next day at seven o'clock, just as she had told him to. He was, to put it mildly, dreading the experience. She did not like him, that much was certain (though Harry wouldn't have been more surprised, not to mention disgusted, had they gotten along). She reminded him of some mad scientist, just waiting for an unsuspecting student to dissect into a million teeny, tiny pieces . . .

Which, if Harry's visions had anything to show for it, was probably true.

Harry raised his hand to knock on Black's office door, pocketing his little map. Cringing slightly, he brought his fist down with a loud 'boom'!

Harry heard a vague 'come in', and so he opened the door and took a few steps foreword.

Professor Black looked up from some paperwork she was completing on her desk, and stood.

"Hello, Mr. Patterson,"

0-o-0


End file.
